Sugar
by citizen tez
Summary: Spain comes over to borrow sugar, but Prussia isn't stupid. He wants to know what Spain really wants. Spain/Prussia pairing. Some language; later chapters probably rated M. Epilogue posted finally.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: Sooo, I wrote this fic up during various states of coherency – exhaustion, drunkenness, etc. You have been warned. I dedicate it to my pervy friends, Cassi and Al. All mistakes are mine, though I tried to catch most of them. This part is rated PG-13 because my Prussia seems to have a potty mouth; later parts will probably be M. Human names sometimes used. Enjoy and let me know what you think.

**Sugar**

Spain sometimes frightened Prussia. He wasn't as batshit insane crazy like he used to be, but he still could scare the hell out of Prussia. Spain – outwardly, anyway- was one of those easy going, lazy types: not quite in line with the rest of the world, since the downfall of his empire. A step behind, so to speak. In some ways, they were very much alike, pining after former glories and all. At least Spain still had a place to call his own. Prussia lived in Germany's basement. It was a nice basement, mind you! Still…

Spain confused him. He never knew what was going on in that head of his. He'd seen France run circles around him, seen him trick him right out of his clothes (and it was so damn easy!), and Spain seemed happily oblivious to it all. But was he? Sometimes he caught Spain staring at him like he'd never seen him before. He stared at him like he was the only person in the world, like he was the only one that mattered. Sometimes Spain would touch him – a hand on the shoulder, a slap on the back and these were all friendly – but other times, the touch was startlingly intimate, such as a caress of his face or a kiss on the forehead. This was all strange to Prussia. France sometimes looked at him _that_ way, but he often stared at other countries (all right – _every_ country) in the same way.

When _Spain_ looked at him in that way, Prussia didn't know how to feel. Prussia was a bit of a people watcher (stalker). Spain didn't look at France that way. He sometimes looked at Romano in that way. But whenever Spain was alone with Prussia, eventually that gaze would be fixed upon him. Now, Prussia was pretty damn awesome – so awesome that he was above silly things like 'relationships' and 'love.' Besides, deep down inside of him, he knew that such things didn't last very long. Why get involved in something so meaningful if it wasn't meant to last? So, Prussia always came up with excuses or distractions, something to get that look out of Spain's eyes. It could be pathetically easy, too. ("Oh, look, Spain – a turtle!")

Even when Prussia was with Spain and France, Prussia felt that weird, vaguely fear-like emotion clawing at him. France normally had his hands down Spain's trousers in an instant, with Prussia watching nearby. (Really, there were better things they could always be doing…) Spain had this annoying habit of looking at him, looking right at him, even as France kissed him. That made Prussia's heart do something weird…and it kind of hurt. So, that's why Spain scared him. He didn't understand him. What Prussia did not understand, he feared. Didn't that happen to lots of people, though? He was too awesome to show such fear, though.

It was getting harder trying to avoid him and all the strange emotions his…nearness seemed to cause. He was knocking on Germany's door nearly every day, usually for something stupid. ("I need to borrow an egg!" or "I left my shoe over here!" Stupid. And how the hell did he get over here so fast, anyway?) Finally, Prussia had had enough. Spain was up there, banging on the door. "I just want to visit! Only for a little while!" Prussia marched up the stairs (he interrupted his viewing of his favorite pony show) and threw the door open.

"What the hell do you want?" he said. Spain looked at him, with those wide, green eyes and smiled. He was always smiling and that annoyed the hell out of him sometimes.

"Gilbert!" He always seemed to use his 'real' name these days. "Is Francis here?"

"No. You aren't here for him. Why are you here?" Prussia's hand gripped the doorknob so tightly that his knuckles were white. Spain laughed.

"Um, got any sugar I can borrow?" What?

"No. You aren't here for that, either. Why. Are. You. Here?"

"I really need some sug—ack!" Spain made a funny choking noise when Prussia wrapped his hand around his neck, yanked him through the door way, and shoved him up against the nearest wall. He wasn't looking so damn smug and confident now, was he? In fact, he was looking kind of anxious and frightened. Ha. Fear Prussia's awesomeness. Though…a small part of him felt a little ashamed to cause _that_ emotion to flash through Spain's eyes. Spain was never frightened. Spain was obnoxiously fearless. ("Hey, let's jump off this cliff into the ocean!~")

"Tell me why you are here. Cut the crap, Spain. You are here every damn day and it's not for eggs, for shoes, for SUGAR, or-or for any other of those ridiculous reasons. Tell me what you want!"

Spain squeaked out something and that only made Prussia's fury grow. "SAY SOMETHING!" Prussia said and shook the Spaniard a few times for emphasis. And then Spain started to laugh. _Laugh._ (Okay, laugh and choke…) He laughed (and choked) so hard that tears were rolling down his cheeks. "What the hell is so damn funny?" Prussia didn't like to be left out of jokes and he especially didn't like it if the joke was about him.

Tch. He had enough of this. Besides, he had his pony show on pause downstairs. The moment he released Spain, though, the man made his move. How easily he seemed to reverse their positions. Spain shoved him against the wall with enough force to knock the breath from Prussia's lungs. He was still chuckling, even as he rubbed his wet cheek against his. Dammit. Maybe he _was_ still batshit insane crazy.

"W-what the hell?" Prussia said and he winced at the embarrassing squeak. He didn't squeak. He was Prussia, dammit! Prussians don't squeak! (They roar like lions! ROAR!)

"I think you know why I'm here," Spain said. His voice was strangely soft and Prussia swallowed thickly when he felt Spain's tongue lick the curve of his ear. Oooh, that kinda felt nice and his knees did this quivering sort of thing. Yeah, this felt nice…No. No, it didn't. Dammit! He was…he was too awesome to feel this way! YEAH. Wasn't he?

"S-stop that. Stop! Spain, what the hell is your problem?" Prussia's heart was hammering and he didn't know why. Spain pressed his forehead to his and smiled. His eyes had _that_ look. The look that had his heart doing something funny.

"I've seen the way you look at me, Gilbert."

"You are the one always shooting me the weird looks!" he protested, bucking against him. "Get off of me!"

But Spain only pulled him firmly into his arms. He hugged him tightly and sighed, sounding ridiculously happy. He was so warm. So warm. Amazing how a hug could make him feel so much. Prussia would never admit it, but he kind of liked Spain's hugs. Just a bit.

"What do you want?" Prussia felt trapped and he was confused as hell. What did Spain want? Why did he always look at him that way? Was it just lust? (Ha, Prussia knew he was hot as hell. He was awesome like that, after all.) Or…was it something else? If it was something else…

Spain murmured something in Spanish and stroked his back gently. No, he wasn't going to Spanish his way out of this one. "What do you want, Spain?"

"Aren't you lonely?" Spain said finally, his arms tightening just a bit. "Aren't you lonely, Gilbert?"

Prussia's first instinct would be to shove him away, to laugh and call him stupid for thinking that he, the Great and Most Awesome Prussia, could ever be lonely. But Spain had this way with his words – he could speak with such a horrid gentleness. His words worked through his barriers and he closed his eyes. Of course he was lonely. He lived in his kid brother's basement! He was a shadow of his former self, a parasite – a leech and he _hated_ it. Hated. But most of all, he hated the loneliness. He could never let other countries get too close, even when he was at the height of his power. He could have had it all then, but fear of the unknown kept him distant. Now it was too late. Who would want anything to do with a disposed, penniless, former country? Prussia wasn't feeling so awesome anymore…

"What if…what if I am?" he said and laughed roughly. "Not anything you can do about it."

"Why do you run, Prussia?" Spain said. "You…you don't have to run, not from me. I…I…"

Now he was stuttering over his words? The always smooth-talking Spain? (And what the hell? He wasn't running!) Prussia's irritation made a quick return. "Spit it out, dammit."

"So crass, Gilbert," Spain chided gently and pulled back slightly to gaze down upon him with those stupid, stupid…and really green eyes. His eyes were _really_ green. He had never really noticed before, but then again, he never had Spain so damn close. His face was still wet from all that laughing (choking) from earlier, too. Prussia felt a little funny when a blush spread across Spain's cheeks. What the hell was he thinking? (Probably something gross and un-awesome.) His fingers came to toy with a button on his shirt. "I could keep you company."

Prussia laughed and it was hard and biting. "K-keep me company? Keep me company? You really are a few fries short of a happy meal, aren't you?" (Take that, a super Americanism! HA, he was awesome.)

Hurt flashed through his eyes and he smiled tightly. But then he just looked sad. Really sad. And it was all his fault. He had to tear his eyes away from him, for a strange emotion – guilt, maybe? – clawed at him. When Spain spoke next, his voice was quiet. "I…I am lonely too, you know."

What the hell did he know about loneliness? He was Spain, country of passion! Everyone loved him. But, he could remember when this was not the case. There was a time when the mere mention of the Reino de España would strike fear into the hearts of any country. Spain was a ruthless tyrant back in the day: bloody and merciless. He took what he wanted and destroyed what he didn't. (Amazing how he could be so happy and nice these days...) Just as quickly as his bloody empire was built, though, it was whittled away. Spain had been beaten down, left to scramble after the rest of Europe, and then his boss's sympathy towards Germany's boss and his cause had him shunned for a long time. A little dictatorship or two didn't help the country. But he had gained a foothold in Europe again. He was getting stronger. Prussia had nothing. He had been torn down, never to be rebuilt again.

Maybe…though, maybe he could relate to Spain in some way. He understood what it was like…to have been so strong, to have been mighty (and awesome!)…only to have everything taken away. And it was kind of nice having someone actually confess a desire to spend time with him. He had always gone to everyone else. No one had ever come to him. The realization made him swallow, hard, and his heart…well, it started to beat even faster. "Do you use that line often?" he said, trying to sound sharp or irritated, but his voice was strangely soft. "K-keep me company? Stupid. I'm Prussia. I don't need – mmph!"

Stupid twit kissed him then.

Prussia felt so damn frazzled and out of control that he didn't know what to make of this new sensation. Spain's lips were gentle, soft, but not insistent. He didn't lay into him, didn't force him down. There was still room to escape. If he wanted to, that is. (He would escape if it lasted too long! Ha!) He simply stood, as still as possible, as Spain kissed him. That had better not been his tongue he felt sliding against his lips…even if it felt…even if…"Prussia. I want to…keep you company. I want to spend time with you." When had Spain stopped kissing him? (And whyyy?)

"Huh?" he said intelligently and Spain smiled. Wait, shouldn't he be angry about this kiss? Shouldn't he? But it only made him confused. "Why? What do you want to do?"

Spain's eyes darkened then and _that_ look was back. He sounded a little breathless when he spoke next. "Because I'm good company. And I want to…I want to…t-t…show you…erm…" God, he really was a pervert, wasn't he? Prussia started to push him away.

"If you only want _that_ from me, take a hike," he said. He wasn't going to be used and thrown away.

"No!" Spain said and seized him, wrapping him up in his arms again. "Gilbert…I really want to spend time with you. We don't even have to…we don't…" He struggled and sighed deeply. "Can I keep you company? If only for one day? Can't I stay with you? I don't…I don't like seeing you lonely. You don't deserve it. I could keep you company. We could…we could talk about how awesome you are!"

Spain laughed awkwardly then and continued to hold onto him like he was going to slip away in an instant. Hm, he really wanted to keep him company, then? And was he being honest? He didn't like seeing him lonely? Prussia had always thought he did an awesome job masking his loneliness. As long as he kept himself occupied with things like harassing Austria, blogging, or eating pancakes…it wasn't so bad. No. It really wasn't! He only had to tell himself that a thousand times a day. Spain had sounded so damn sincere that Prussia wanted to believe him, wanted to trust him…but he was afraid. He wasn't so afraid of _Spain_ anymore, per se. He was afraid of all these emotion-thingies (yeah, that's a real phrase!) that welled up inside of him. Prussia had never been kissed, he'd never been held like this, and he'd never have someone tell him…Dammit. He wanted this. Whatever _this_ was. He wanted someone to spend time with him. (Germany spent time with him, yes, but that's because they were obligated to do so. Family and all.) Spain said he wanted to be with him. Could he really take that chance?

"You aren't…you aren't messing with me, are you? It's not outta pity? I don't do pity, Spain," he managed.

"No. Why would I mess with you, Gilbert? Why would I come all this way if I didn't want to be with you? You know how far away I live? Takes me hours to get here," he rambled. "Prussia, I want to spend time with you because of _you_, because of who you are, not out of pity."

What the hell did that mean? He sounded so stupidly honest that Prussia felt more of his resistance crumbling away. "One day, then. No strings attached." Spain already had him tied up in little knot, but he'd never know _that_. Prussia had to try and maintain some control of whatever was happening between them.

"No strings attached!" Spain said and squeezed him tightly. "T-thank you. You won't regret it! I'm good company!" (Ha, he had better be…wait! Ugh, when he did he start thinking _those_ kinds of thoughts?)

"All right, tomatoes. That's enough," he said gruffly and Spain finally released him. He was smiling stupidly again and ruffled his hair.

Prussia batted his hand away and marched towards the staircase. Spain simply stared at him, unmoving. "Sugar's in the basement," he said and he damned the stupid (awesomely manly!) blush that crept up his face.

Spain failed to take the hint, though. Did he really have to spell it out for him? "But I don't need any sugar…" Spain said and cocked his head to one side.

"Spain. Really? Look, I was watching something important so either stand there and look stupid or come down to the basement with me."

He could see the gears turning inside of his head, but they weren't going fast enough. "I really didn't come over here for sugar. I came because -."

"I know why you came! My room is in the basement. We can continue our discussion on how fantastically awesome I am down there. Comprende?"

"Ooooh," he said and nodded. He walked towards the staircase and paused alongside him. Then, he sort of waggled his eyebrows, a la France, and leered at him. "Hey, Gilbert. You can still give me some of your sugar a little later, if you know what I mean."

WHAM.

"Ouch, you didn't have to hit me!" When Spain fell forward, clutching his stomach in pain, Prussia grabbed him, hauled him over one shoulder, and then started down the stairs. "Oh, this is kinda sexy, Prussia! Didn't know you were this strong. Ouch! Don't pinch me! Oh, hey, nice room! Oooh, nice bed. We should go test it ou—PONIES! I love this shoooow!"

And that's how they spend much of their day. It wasn't so bad, either, spending this time with Spain. There wasn't that awkward tension between them and Spain never looked at him _that_ way, though Prussia would catch him staring over at him. He felt 'normal' around Spain again. He also discovered that Spain was a _kick-ass_ cook. Who knew tomatoes could taste like that? He even got Spain to eat some of his cooking, though he saw him blanch out of the corner of his eye a few times. He was a good guest and ate everything on his plate. (His threats helped, too.)

But then the day gave way to the night and Prussia knew this was all going to end. He watched the credits roll up the screen from their latest pony movie and sighed. Spain had disappeared a moment ago, probably to use the bathroom. Prussia spent some time trying to work up to the words he knew he'd have to say. ("Hey, it was nice, but…") He stood and switched off the television. And then he turned around.

"S-Spain? What the hell are you doing?"

Spain was struggling out of his tee shirt, having planted himself firmly on the bed. He smiled sleepily towards him and dropped the shirt to the ground. "I'm sleepy," he said simply. Shit. If Spain's head hit that mattress, there was no way Prussia was going to be able to get him off his bed. Spain slept like a damn rock.

"Go upstairs! Germany has a ton of empty rooms you can use! Better yet, go home!"

"B-but I really like this room…and I really like this bed," he said and stretched languidly. "And you said we can spend the day together…the whole day."

"Oh, if you want to play _that_ game, sure. I'll roll you out of bed at midnight."

"You'll sleep with me, then, Gilbert?"

Oooh, no. He wouldn't let him twist his words around. "I said no strings attached!" he said furiously, his face reddening. Spain just looked at him for a moment, brain obviously slowly processing his words, and then he yawned.

"No strings attached, I know. Jus'…just wanna sleep, that's all." Then, he rubbed his eyes and Prussia's mind frizzled. He felt his eyebrow twitch. No. No, resist the urge. 'Cute' and 'Spain' couldn't ever be in the same sentence together. Yes, he knew Spain was good looking. Who didn't? He acknowledged this universal truth. Prussia also enjoyed all things cute, but Spain…He'd never seen him like this – sleepy-eyed and shirtless and looking so utterly content and happy. It made his stomach twist into knots, to know that maybe (just maybe!) Spain was happy and content because of _him_.

"A-all right," he said before he could stop himself. "You keep to one side of the bed! I don't do that cuddling shit or anything." He was above such things as cuddling.

"Thank you!~" Spain cheered and immediately ripped his trousers off, threw them aside, and snuggled into the pillows.

"Oi! Keep your damn pants on, Spain!" Prussia cried. It was too late, though. Spain's body relaxed the moment his head hit the pillow. "Shiiit." He could never sleep with a pant-less Spain.

He spent the next two hours avoiding his bed. He cleaned his room, surfed the internet, and played pong on his Atari. He did anything to keep his mind off pant-less Spain and his bed invasion. He would mindless wander around the room and then he would clean some more. He had folded Spain's clothing carefully and set them on the nightstand…and he finally looked down at Spain. Amazing how someone could look so damn peaceful. He had shifted and turned in his sleep. His mouth hung open slightly and one arm was flung over his eyes while the other clutched at a nearby pillow. Worst of all, the band of his boxers had ridden low on his hip. He looked…he looked so…and every inch of his skin (that he could see) was tanned…how…?

Prussia had to go bang his head on the wall for good long moment, just to get _those_ thoughts out of his mind. Stupid Spain blissfully slept through it all. Prussia watched him some more, from a distant. He considered his bedroom options. One. He could sleep in the same bed as Spain. Two. He could go and sleep on the couch. Three. He could go take one of the extra rooms up stairs. Four. He could sleep on the floor. Five. He could not sleep at all.

Options two and three would open him up to some awkward questioning by his brother. He wasn't willing to deal with that. He didn't know how Germany would feel, knowing that Spain spent the night. Option five was appealing but he was starting to get a headache from the lack of sleep. (Or maybe it was all that head banging…) Option four sounded too painful. So he was left with option one. Sleep in the same bed as Spain. Maybe…it wasn't such a bad idea. Spain, after all, slept like a rock. Prussia approached the bed slowly. What was he so worried about? It could be nice, sharing a bed with someone else. Prussia was always willing to try something new, after all!

He kept all of his clothing _on_ though (less risk) and gingerly climbed over the sleeping brunette. He stretched out on the mattress as far away as he could, his back facing Spain. And he just stared at the wall and listened to Spain breathe. He was so wound up that he jumped when the evitable happened. Spain's hand touch his back and his fingers twisted into his clothing.

"Ne, Prussia…too many clothes on," he said sleepily. He doubted Spain was actually awake. He tried to pretend he was asleep, but the Spain's arm slipped around to hold him.

"I-I said no strings…" Prussia said, shoving at his arm. He felt the bed shift slightly and then Spain pressed up against his back and his arm was back around him.

"Don't have any strings," he mumbled. "Lemme hold you, Gilbert. Please…"

How could Spain be so damn warm? His body felt like it was radiating heat and he could feel it, straight through his clothing. His breathing was still slow and even. Prussia felt his forehead press against the back of his neck. Strangely…he didn't find this so terrible. Spain held him tightly and it felt nice (so, so nice) to be this close to someone else, to have someone hold onto him like he meant something.

"Please, Gilbert," Spain whined softly again. Prussia couldn't resist now. He twisted around and wrapped his arms around his body. Spain hummed happily and snaked his arms around, sighing deeply. Prussia's face was pressed awkwardly to his chest – his naked chest – and he hoped that all this heat Spain was giving off would mask the heat rolling off his face…

Spain's hands smoothed over his back. "Can I take your shirt off?" he mumbled suddenly. "Kinda itchy."

"No."

"…you'll feel better with your shirt off." He felt his fingers curl around the hem of his shirt.

"Spain?"

"Hmm?"

"I will roll you off of this bed if you don't shut up and sleep."

Spain simply chuckled and Prussia ignored that brush of lips to his brow. He'd better not be getting any funny ideas. Finally, he felt his body relax against his and it didn't take long at all. Prussia had thought he would be completely…anxious, skittish, frightened…of this sort of thing, but he found it easy to close his eyes. He found it easy to rest his cheek on Spain's chest, to listen to his heart thud slowly, to relax...

Hm. Maybe this cuddling shit wasn't so bad after all. He'd have to write about this…put in the awesome category…

Maybe.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**: I'm really flattered by all the reviews. Thank you so much. Here's the second part. (I already had it written…I wanted to gauge reactions before I slapped it up.) Hope I live up to your expectations!

I am working on a third part now…I'm afraid this might be one of those fics that refuses to end. This is what happens when you write with no real outline or idea. I just wanted some Spain and Prussia lovin'. This part was also hastily edited and I'm not sure if I'm completely satisfied with it. I also bumped the rating up to M just to be safe. I have a hard time writing…smexy scenes. I don't do it well, I'm afraid.

**Chapter 2**

* * *

><p>The morning brought him a lot of surprises. He had the best damn sleep in a long while, for one. (Spain would never, ever know of this!) Also, Spain was really crabby in the morning. He'd never seen Spain wake up in the morning. When he had his naps ("Siesta tiiiime!~"), he always woke up happier than ever. Waking up after an entire night's sleep was apparently a game changer.<p>

"Q-quit movin'," Spain mumbled as Prussia wiggled away from him. "It's…it's so early…Gilb…"

Apparently he was too groggy to even get his whole name out. Seven o'clock wasn't early, either. Tch. Lazy Spain. Prussia always got up early, or else he might miss something. The start of a new day was always a marvel for Prussia – he could fill it with so many awesome things! It was like a blank canvas ready to be painted. (Splattered painted, of course. He didn't do anything in a stylized form these days.) If Spain wanted to be lazy…well, his loss. Prussia was going to go make some pancakes.

So, he left Spain in bed and went to the door. He rolled around on the bed and bemoaned the 'curse of daylight' or something just as stupid and Prussia headed up the stairs. Fifteen minutes later, he was making an awesome stack of pancakes, dressed in that cute apron Felici bought him. (Yeah, he made it look good. Totally rocked the frills.)

As he flipped one of the pancakes, he considered the day ahead. One of the perks of not being a country any more was that he didn't have to deal with all the crap associated with government. There were always people to please, forms to sign, countries to invade…rather boring stuff, really. (Well, maybe not the invasion part…) Still, he liked to drop in on West during his meetings just to feel somewhat useful. Not that any of Germany's bosses recognized him, though.

It was a Saturday, however, so Germany probably wouldn't be in many meetings. He was surprised that he hadn't already seen his brother, but ever since Felici started sleeping over, Germany was sleeping in later and later. Italy was making his brother lazy. At least he was cute and made awesome pasta. Ha! He could drop in on Austria – hadn't seen him in three days after all. It was about time for another round of harassment.

Prussia stacked his pancakes on a plate and he thought it was an impressive tower. He retrieved the syrup and turned to around to carry his masterpiece to the kitchen table. And there was Spain.

In his boxers. Sitting at the table.

Prussia felt his eyebrow twitch and he set the plate and syrup on the table. Spain was rubbing one of his eyes and gave him a sleepy smile. "I'm hungry," he said. Oooh no. He wasn't going to give into his…his cuteness again! He yanked his apron off and tossed it at his head. The Spaniard did not react and it simply flopped into his lap.

"One, put some damn clothing on and two, make your own food," Prussia groused. Sure, he routinely wandered around in his boxers but looking at Spain practically naked was making his brain mushy.

"Gilbert, those look good," he said, eyeing the pancakes forlornly. He pulled the apron on slowly and Prussia thought his brain was going to melt out of his ears. Having him wear that apron was a bad idea. Why did he find _that_ more attractive than a nearly-naked Spain? (When the hell did he start finding Spain attractive?) Spain rested his chin on his hand and smiled serenely at him. "Prussia, you are giving me _that_ look."

What the flying – dammit. Prussia shoved away from the table, stormed over to the cabinets, and (after nearly ripping the door off), retrieved another plate. He slammed it down in front of Spain (who didn't even flinch), threw some pancakes on it, and promptly drowned said pancakes in syrup. "There. Happy?"

Spain's hand whipped out and grabbed his suddenly. His eyes were unreadable but he didn't have _that_ look. No. This was something deeper, more affectionate. And all he did was _look_ at him. Prussia's heart was loud in his ears and suddenly he couldn't stand it. He yanked his hand back, grabbed up his (most awesome) pancakes, and left the room. It wasn't a retreat! Prussia didn't do retreats. He…had that show he had to watch in one of the upstairs safe rooms. Spain would never find that room. During the cold war, Germany had a ton of these rooms created. He particularly liked the one behind the bookcase in the parlor.

He angrily tore into his pancakes and watched the morning cartoons in silence. Shit. What the hell was that with Spain? Why did Spain look at him with such…such affection? He wasn't accustomed to people feeling affectionate towards him. He knew he was just an annoyance. (And a damn awesome one!) He huffed as he flipped through the channels of the television, his pancakes long since eaten. Normally, he'd find _something_ entertaining to watch, but his mind was too occupied. Too occupied thinking of a certain stupid, loopy Spaniard. That bugged the hell out of him for some reason. He never put this much thought on someone else before, not since Hungary showed him her boobs a couple centuries back.

Two or three hours drifted (so agonizingly slowly) by as he struggled with his…issue and tried to watch his cartoons. Wasn't working, though. He threw the remote at the television and supposed he should go and see if Spain was still hanging around. Stupid git was nowhere to be found. Wasn't in the kitchen, wasn't out in the gardens, wasn't in the parlor. Ha. He must have taken the hint and left. Finally, he could relax.

He slammed shut the door of his room and yanked off his shirt. A friggin' long hot shower was exactly what he needed. He was in the process of tossing his shirt across the room when the bathroom door swung open to reveal Spain. Of course it was Spain. At least he was wearing clothing. Albeit, it was _Prussia's_ clothing. Spain's hair was wet and he had a towel around his shoulders. He smiled brightly upon seeing Prussia.

"Gilbert! I didn't know where you went!"

"So, you invited yourself into my shower and into my clothes?"

"Yeah!" he answered (sounding waaay too happy) and tugged on the shirt. "A bit tight, since you are a little smaller, but they still fit!"

"I'm not smaller than you," Prussia huffed. "You are just fatter. Eating too much of that French cuisine, aren't you?" Why he wanted to inflict pain, he didn't know. It sort of backfired though. Spain looked horrified and rushed back into the bathroom.

"I'm not fat! I-I know I eat a lot! But I'm not fat!" He yanked up his tee shirt and was staring closely at himself in the mirror. He looked ridiculous (and hot). Dammit. Prussia rolled his eyes and leaned against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest.

"You are dumb as a brick sometimes," he groused. "You aren't fat."

The relief on Spain's face was so apparent that Prussia had to laugh. He let the shirt fall and smoothed his hands over his abdomen. "W-well, good," Spain said and then his gaze fixed on him. And wandered. He really shouldn't be that damn obvious. Prussia flushed and cleared his throat.

"Get the hell outta my bathroom," he choked out. "And out of my house. I have important things to do today!" It was a lie, but who the hell cared? This was getting to be too much. It was too weird, too strange. He _wanted_ Spain, like he'd never wanted someone else before and blamed hormones. Yeah. It was totally his awesome hormones. (That made sense, right?)

The Spaniard didn't look a bit phased by the harshness of his words and made to slip by him. From this close distance, he could see the water from Spain's hair rolling down the back of his neck. (Kinda wanted to lick that, for some reason…) He swore he could feel the _heat_ from the shower radiating from his skin, swore he could smell his own soap on his skin, and he wanted…wanted _something_ but he wasn't sure what. "S-Spain?" he said and his voice was kind of strangled.

"Yes, Gilbert?" he answered, pausing just outside the door. Prussia _wanted _to seize him by the shirt, shove him against the wall, and make him explain all of these _things_ happening to him, but…

"C-clean up your damn mess, all right?" His stupid boxers were on the ground right next to the clothing hamper. That either meant Spain was wearing a pair of his boxers or…he was…erm. His brain did that mushy thing and he flushed so hotly that he felt like his face was going to burn off. Spain was walking towards him, to get those boxers, but Prussia slipped inside of the bathroom and slammed the door in his face. "Get out of my house!" (No, he totally did NOT screech that.)

Showering was a miserable experience that brought him no relief. At all. He turned the water on as hot as it would get, as if that could burn these feelings right out of him, but it didn't work. He turned the water as cold as it would go and that took the edge off but dammit, it hurt. (Strangely, it hurt a lot more than the hot water did.)

He switched back and forth between the too hot and the too cold until he drained the tank of all the hot water. Normally, he loved his showers. He did! He enjoyed being clean and enjoyed how his muscles would relax under the warm spray. Now he still felt dirty and he was so wound up that he was on the verge of a headache. He turned the water off finally and slowly toweled himself off and then pressed his ear to his door. Hm. He couldn't hear a damn thing. Perhaps _now_ Spain had left.

He was so flustered earlier that he hadn't bothered to bring his clothing into the bathroom with him which meant he had to risk a journey across the room in a towel. (Yeah, he normally did that naked, but he never had to worry about the prying eyes of a certain Spaniard.) He crept out into his bedroom and had made it nearly all the way across when Spain suddenly popped up from behind the couch. "Prussia!" he cried.

Prussia nearly jumped but kept a firm hold on his towel. (This wasn't no pervy American porno, where the girl loses her towel and the guy comes over and does…stuff to her. Yeah.) "I told you to go HOME," he snapped and hurried over to his dresser. He knelt and yanked open one of the drawers to begin a mindless search for decency.

"Are you all right? You look cold." When had he crossed the room? Spain was crouching beside him now and his hand was warm on his arm.

He tried not to look at him, didn't want to look at him…He could hear the concern in his voice and felt his fingers massage his arm ever so gently. Did Spain have _any_ idea of what he was doing to him? Did he understand how he was making him feel? Prussia felt so hopelessly lost and confused and almost afraid. What did Spain want with him?

Spain's arms slowly drifted around him and he didn't care about the towel anymore. He wanted Spain to hold him, just like this, and he was too ashamed to tell him or accept it. He clenched his eyes shut and struggled to come up with something to say, something that would get Spain the hell away from him, but nothing came to mind. Spain's hands drifted over him and he actually tugged the towel up higher on his waist.

Prussia smiled, his head bowed. Spain was trying to protect his virtues, eh? A strange turnaround indeed. "Gilbert…" he said gently and his fingers stroked along his back. Prussia shifted to turn in his arms and pressed his forehead against his shoulder. He always liked how Spain said his name. Always like it meant something, if that made sense.

Spain's fingers had moved to caress his jawline and cheek and then those stupid, crafty fingers hooked under his chin. He forced his eyes opened to look at Spain as his face was lifted. Spain was gazing at him with such affection that his heart really did a funny twist then. He was just…staring at him and stroking his cheek…this was taking too long. Spain was treating him like some girl, like some special little…something. Prussia didn't think he wanted to be treated so gently and he didn't want stupid long, sappy gazes into his eyes. He wasn't a stupid girl. (Only girls liked that shit, right? He wouldn't mind it normally and it made him feel kind of nice…but…) He knew what he wanted and Spain wasn't going fast enough.

He batted Spain's hand away and slammed his mouth to his. It was an awkward, messy, open mouthed kiss. Spain made a surprised sound and tried to grip his face, to take control, but Prussia shoved his hands away. Maybe there was too much tongue, too much grazing of teeth. Prussia worked his hands into Spain's hair and maybe tightened his fingers a little too much, but one wouldn't know it by that pleasant flush working its way up Spain's neck and cheek or those sounds he was making in the back of his throat. "I'm not damn girl, Spain," Prussia growled against his lips.

Spain laughed suddenly, low in his throat, and before he knew it, he was being pressed into the ground and Spain was looming over him. "Oooh, I know you aren't a girl, Gilbert. Not at all," he leered and one of his hands settled on that towel around his waist. Prussia inhaled sharply through his nose.

"S-Spain," he snapped. "Get the hell off of -."

But Spain kissed him hard again, quickly, and he closed his eyes when he felt his breath against his ear. His voice was raspy and low – nothing like he'd ever heard before. "Don't call me that. Not when we are like _this_, Gilbert. Please…" And yeah. His brain went to mush then. Complete utter mush.

He knew Spain was kissing him and knew his fingers dipped teasingly beneath the towel but his mind was struggling to catch up and make sense of Spain and his obviously pervy intentions. He heard him murmur something in Spanish as he dipped his head to kiss his neck. Prussia allowed it and had no idea what to do. What was he supposed to do with his arms? Was he supposed to move? His breathing hitched when his mouth closed over one of his nipples. Spain's eyes flickered up to his, all knowing, and Prussia thunked his head back onto the carpet. Dammit. He threaded his fingers of one hand through Spain's hair, wanting him to stay _right_ there and keep doing whatever the hell felt so nice…

His damn towel had come off, too, and Prussia was struck at how wrong this was. Something was wrong. He was naked and Spain was not! "You-you…" he struggled, not really knowing what he wanted to say. His hands went to tug at the buttons on his shirt but then Spain grabbed them up and pinned them above his head.

Prussia started to glare at him, an insult ready on his tongue and then Spain rocked against his groin. Nearly went all the hell there. He wasn't sure what kind of noise was just torn from his lips, but it sounded like a strangled moan. "Mein _Gott_," he gasped and shamelessly (what? It felt good) spread his legs, just to get that feeling again.

Spain laughed again in between his kisses and he would roll against him, providing such delicious friction. If he would just move a little to the right, roll a little harder…and faster…His (bare) legs were wrapped around Spain's waist now and every time Spain moved, Prussia's breathing would hitch. "D-dammit, Sp-Spain…" he nearly moaned. He still couldn't bring himself to say what Spain wanted to hear, though. At least in that small way, he felt like he had some control of the situation.

"What do you want, Gilbert?" he said and Prussia wondered how he seemed so calm and collected. There was a nice flush to his skin, but his breathing wasn't as ragged as his. He wasn't trembling, like he was. Spain didn't even give him a chance to answer before he was licking his way into his mouth. His tongue curled around his, suckling ever so lightly and that feeling went straight to his groin. He groaned harshly into his mouth and when Spain finally released his arms, he tightly curled them around his body and tried to push as close as possible. He wanted this…wanted all of this and all of him.

Spain was shaking awake feelings that he had long since thought buried. He felt his eyes burning and his throat was scratchy. He felt so stupid – wasn't right to get all this emotional over a quick fuck on the ground. Even if…he'd never had one before. Even if the man above him made him feel so…appreciated, meaningful, and worthy. "Oh, Gilbert," he murmured and he was kissed so gently on the lips. "You don't have to run anymore. What do you want? I'll give it to you. Please tell me. Please."

Prussia choked out a laugh then and turned his face away. What the hell did he know? "I'm not running," he nearly snarled. "Quit asking me that question. Would you get the hell on with it? You know what I want. I don't beg, Spain." He was too awesome to beg, of course.

Spain's hand finally (finally!) wiggled its way between their tightly pressed bodies and he clenched his teeth when it closed around his manhood. "I know," he said softly and kissed the skin just below his ear. "I'll give it to you if you'd…" His hand then did something that had him gasping out right. "If you'd just say my name."

"No."

"Gilbert…" Amazing how he could whine at a time like this. "Say my name, please. I want to hear you say it."

"You have about five seconds to get the _hell_ on with this or your head is going through that wall," he said and pushed his hips against his hand.

He heard Spain sigh and thankfully he abandoned his name quest. His open mouth was pressed to his chest and he was kissing his way down…down to what? What was he planning? His tongue licked and tasted, teasing him to the point that he was squirming. His hand was tight around him and Prussia rocked against it and felt no shame at _all_. But the Spain let go of him and lifted off. What…? It was just getting good, too!

Spain pushed his hips down and he swore, _swore_ he saw his tongue dart out to lick his lips. Prussia couldn't help the moan in the back of his throat. That was so…Spain was so…He couldn't even think coherently at that point. He didn't breathe as he watched Spain lower his mouth. He was going to do it – he was going to use his mouth and Prussia's brain went to complete pieces. …but then Spain just kissed the skin on his hip. What? He was kissing and licking him _everywhere_ and while it felt so completely nice, he was avoiding the one place Prussia really wanted him to touch. "S-stupid tease," he said, trying to move his hips to Spain's stupid damn (hot) mouth. Spain grabbed his hips and forced them down.

"Don't move. I'm busy," he said, his voice muffled against him.

The sight of Spain's head down _there_ was so mind boggling erotic that he couldn't bear to look at him. So he looked at everything but that. The whitewash ceiling, for instance. The television, the messy bed, his computer, Germany standing in the doorway, the stack of books on the coffee table…

Spain's tongue was inching closer and closer and he tried to move…and then his brain caught up with him. Wait. Germany in the doorway? He looked again and yes, his brother was watching him, his hand loosely on doorknob. His expression was very close to horror and embarrassment. (Horrific embarrassment. Ha. Only a German could pull that off.) "West!" Prussia shouted and he felt Spain frown against his skin.

"That's not my name," he said. "But, Gilbert, I didn't know you were so kinky…"

"Shut up, you stupid moron! Get the hell off of me!" It was like he had been drenched in a bucket of ice cold water. He yanked away from Spain, who wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. (He would have found _that_ little scene hot if only his kid brother wasn't staring at him.) Spain's eyes lit up when he saw who was standing in the doorway.

"Hi Germany!" he chirped and Prussia wanted to strangle him. Why was he so stupidly happy to see his brother? He'd interrupted everything and now Prussia was on the warpath.

"Get out," he darkly. He stood and wrapped the towel around his waist. "Both of you. Out. Spain, go home."

"Gilbert," Spain started and reached for him. Prussia shoved by him, all seething anger and confusion.

"Don't call me that. Haven't you done enough? Get out. Go." He couldn't look at him, didn't want to look at him, didn't want to deal with him…Prussia's head hurt and his heart felt…well, it felt funny. He wasn't sure to make of this feeling, but he didn't like it. The more rational part of him knew that his anger towards Spain was unwarranted (but he'd kill West later). He didn't like the hurt in his eyes and felt even worse when the Spaniard fled the room.

Germany also made an intelligent decision and went back up the stairs.

Shit. _Shit_. Everything was wrong now and nothing made sense. Prussia had to get out of here. Maybe he'd go and bug the hell out of Austria, to relieve all this tension and anger that was built up inside of him. He dragged on his clothing and left the house without another word.

He never did make it to Austria's house. He spent the fair majority of his afternoon in a nearby park and did a lot more thinking then he had in a long time. No matter how hard he tried to rationalize his decisions, to make himself feel better for kicking Spain out, he continued to feel utterly miserable. And it wasn't just because he missed out on the sex. (Though, he was pretty damn frustrated about it.) Why did he continue to make such asinine decisions? Why did he constantly push Spain away? The answers wouldn't come to him.

Prussia picked at the grass and sullen watched the ducks frolic in the park's pathetic excuse for a pond. Every once and a while, they would look at him in interest, obviously waiting for a bit of food. Prussia threw a rock into the pond and scattered them all away. He rubbed his face with his hands and sighed. Normally, he would be right in the pond with those ducks (so damn cuuuute) but now he was in such a horrid mood he didn't want anything to do with them. He flopped back on the grass and huffed…and then set to watching the clouds.

Ha. He used to do this with Spain when they were younger – watch the clouds and dream. Whenever he would visit Spain's house, he could always find him in the fields, in the grass with such a stupid look on his face. 'Prussia,' he would say. 'Don't you ever want to just get away? Don't you want to see the world?' No. Prussia was fine blazing a trail through most of Europe. Spain wasn't, though. Later on, he could always find Spain staring out into the Atlantic with such a far off look on his face. 'Prussia,' he would say. 'I want to see what's out there. I want to go. I need to explore and to see everything there is to see. Don't you feel the same way?'

'Nothing is out there,' Prussia had said. 'Don't be stupid. Stay here, Spain.'

Spain didn't listen – Spain never listened. He always did what pleased him and what made him happy. So he built his navy and spent all of his money sailing away into the depths of the unknown. That changed him forever. Spain hadn't been the same since. He had gained so much – power, wealth, land - and the fall was devastating. Sometimes Prussia would catch him staring at the ocean or at a star filled night sky, his eyes full of that same longing. Spain was always itching for more, to know more, to do more…to have everything and anything that he wanted. Prussia knew that he would never regain the power he once had and so when he saw that longing in Spain's eyes…it hurt. It hurt because Prussia knew exactly how Spain felt.

Still, Spain remained Spain in many ways. He did what made him happy and what he thought was right. Prussia wondered fleetingly if being with _him_ made Spain happy. What did Spain want with him? Surely he wasn't happy like this? Dammit. All this stupid thinking was giving him a raging headache.

Finally, the sun was being dragged down beneath the horizon and Prussia headed home. He was exhausted and it wasn't even eight in the evening. Feliciano and Ludwig weren't anywhere to be seen, but they were probably eating dinner. He wasn't hungry, though. Prussia found that he was actually disappointed when Spain didn't come bounding from some hiding place. Yes, he sort of missed that stupid, silly (wonderful?) Spaniard. He quietly shut his bedroom door, thankful for the darkness. He crossed the room, knowing his way around obstacles by mere habit. He collapsed on the bed with a groan and wrapped his arms around his pillow. He'd sleep and figure this mess out in the morning. Yeah.

Strangely, he wasn't all that surprised when he felt the bed move and a familiar arm curl around him. Prussia sighed and would never admit it, but he was grateful that he didn't chase him away. Spain pressed his cheek to his face and stroked his back. "'m sorry," Spain mumbled sleepily.

"Tch, nothing to be sorry about," he admitted. He wouldn't apologize, though. Not yet. He knew he should but he couldn't form the words. Spain's arms tightened around him and he felt the press of his lips to his cheek.

"But I am, Prussia."

Spain had used the wrong name. It had been so long since he had heard it last that it was almost alien to him. "D-don't call me that," he muttered. "Call me…call me Gilbert, Antonio."

He could feel Spain's smile against his cheek. "You called me Antonio," he said.

"Yeah, so? Felt like it."

"Liked it," Spain said and pressed another sleepy kiss to his face. Prussia kind of wanted to kiss him – to _really_ kiss him, but lacked the courage to do so. (No, he wasn't a coward! Just…a little inexperienced!) "I like it when you say my name…c-can I stay here tonight?" How could he like something he'd only heard once, though?

"Yeah. Go to sleep," Prussia said. He might have actually sounded _nice_ saying that.

Spain made a pleased sound and snuggled up to him, whispering something in soft Spanish. Prussia didn't know what he said, but it certainly sounded nice. Call him crazy, but this really wasn't so bad – Spain sharing his bed. He wondered, though, when Spain would actually go back to his own country.

"Thinkin' again, Gilbert," Spain slurred, hardly conscious at all. "Go sleep. Sleep."

Prussia rolled his eyes and pressed a kiss to his forehead – something he never thought he'd do, especially to Spain. Ah, hell. He could feel his brain turning, trying to make sense of his actions and feelings. He'd never get to sleep at this point. So, he turned his mind to ponies and ice cream. That did the trick…


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**: Yeah, I know. It's been mooonths since an update. I actually had the majority of this written back in July. I wrote two part threes for this story and I'm not really satisfied with either of them. This one is in a more complete form and has given me some nice ideas for a part four, so here you are. Forgive me. I also made up a verb. Cookies if you find it. Let me know if there are any horrid typos. I did my best.

**Warnings**: **Too much cussing**. I don't think Gilbert actually cusses this much but…oh well. Shower scene with naughty things. I'm not very good at the naughty stuff so you have been warned.

* * *

><p>The next day began much like the previous, with Spain complaining and grumbling in the bed. He didn't get up until well past eight in the morning, even <em>with<em> Prussia cooking pancakes. Prussia had resolved not to wake him up and if Spain slept through breakfast, it would serve him right. Of course, Spain had made his appearance just as he was cleaning up the leftovers. Spain whined enough ('Gilbee~eert, I'm hungry!') and he ended up feeding him – again. Dammit. That had better not become a habit.

"When are you going home?" Prussia asked as he watched Spain gleefully dig into the pancakes. It wasn't that he minded Spain being over here anymore, but Spain was a country. He was expected to do…country things.

Spain looked thoughtful for a moment (or as about as thoughtful as someone could with a mouthful full of pancake.) "Umm," he began, after (thankfully) swallowing what was in his mouth. "Well, as soon as the summit meeting is over…"

"Wait. What? What summit meeting? Spain, you aren't using me to get out of politics, are you?" Oh, he had better not be. Prussia could already feel his blood pressure rising. Spain shook his head.

"N-no! No, Gilbert, I really want to come and see you. The summit meeting was a coincidence."

Prussia didn't believe him but Spain _sounded_ honest. Besides, he knew how damn boring those summit meetings could be so he couldn't blame him for bailing. "No one knows where you are?"

Spain shook his head sheepishly and focused on his pancakes. "Might have…run away. In the middle of the night."

What, was Spain twelve? Only kids ran away from home. Dammit, he was such an idiot. He watched Spain munch away for a while and tossed around ideas in his head. Spain would have to go back – and probably today – or else Prussia (or West) would be blamed for his kidnap or something just as stupid.

Spain was licking his plate clean when Prussia finally started to pay attention to him again. "That's disgusting," he said and snatched the plate from Spain. "You'll have to go back. Today."

The Spaniard was immensely displeased and folded his arms. "Well, I don't want to."

"There's nothing you can do about it. I'm taking you back."

"Oh, you'll go with me, Gilbert?" His mood was immediately lightened and he bounded from his chair. "That's good because I know brother Portugal is going to be there."

Shit, he'd have to deal with Spain's crazy siblings? Portugal was a nutter and his sisters…god, his sisters…Spain was tugging on his hand and he was dragged down the staircase and back into the bedroom. "Let's shower!"

Whoa, whoa. Shower? With Spain? "I don't think so," Prussia said, pulling his hand away. It was only then that he realized he was still carrying Spain's plate in his other hand. Dammit. He set it on the dresser and avoided Spain's gaze. He couldn't shower with him. He might expect…things. He blushed at the thought.

"Gilbert," Spain singsonged. "You are blushing. What are you thinking, hm? It's just more economical to shower together." Economical his ass. (He recalled Italy pulling the same move on Germany. Hmm. Were those two sharing notes or something? 'How to Get into a German's Pants: Step 1…') He knew what Spain was thinking. Prussia wasn't born yesterday. Spain took his hands in his and smiled. His eyes had _that_ look in them, the look that had Prussia's heart squeezing and his stomach fluttering. "Shower with me. No strings attached."

That was a load of bullshit but Prussia found himself nodding. Spain's smile was sweet and coaxing and he pulled him backwards into the bathroom. It's just a shower. Just a shower. But no matter how many times he repeated those words, his heart continued to pound and his face was probably as red as those stupid tomatoes Spain loved so much. He even allowed Spain to pull his shirt off and watched, almost in a daze, as it fell to the ground. "Spain," he said faintly.

Would he allow himself to fall prey to the obvious desires in Spain's hungry eyes? Again? Spain's hands were gently stroking his bare shoulders, his arms, his chest, and then his hands settled on his belt buckle. "Oh, no you don't," Prussia squeaked out and shoved his hands away. He didn't need to be undressed like some silly child. "I'm not a kid. Go start the shower."

Spain danced away from him and went to fiddle with the shower. Prussia made sure the bathroom door was shut firmly and _locked_. He would not be interrupted again. But what did he not want interrupted? Dammit. He pressed his forehead against the door and sighed. His mind was always circling around, focusing on that one intense moment the two of them shared yesterday. Before that time, Prussia had never put much thought into love or sex. To him, the ideas were wholly separate, anyway. He only felt love for his (former) people. Sex (something he never bothered with) was something used to exert power over another individual. (Right?) And since he always exerted his power with ass kicking, he never had to deal with sex. But this was different. He felt something strange for Spain and he wasn't sure what it was.

"Gilbert." Spain's voice was very close to his ear and the man pressed his hand to his back. "I'll leave. I don't want you to feel forced into doing anything."

Tch. Forced? Prussia would never be forced into doing anything against his will. He was too damn awesome for that. "What do you know?" Prussia said. "I want this. You aren't forcing me into anything. It's just a shower."

Dammit, he wanted it to be much, much more than a shower. How much he had changed in the last two days! Now he seemed to constantly think of Spain hovering over him, Spain kissing him, Spain touching him…ugh, it was disgusting. "Okay," he heard him whisper and then his hand disappeared.

When he finally turned around, Spain had stripped all of his clothing off and was standing under the spray. Hm. So he really _was_ tan all over. That gave him rather naughty (and hot) images of Spain frolicking around in the nude. (Frolicking was a word Prussia thought he would never use.) Prussia thought him a rather lovely sight and when Spain smiled at him, his brain nearly did that 'mushy goo' thing. He had this sneaking suspicion that the Spaniard was well aware of his hotness. (That made sense, right?)

Prussia undressed faster than he had ever in his life and dashed into the shower stall. Hm. What now? This was new. He'd never showered with another man before. (And damn, Spain did have a nice…erm…yeah…) Showering with Spain was a frustrating experience. One, he hogged the spray. Two, he did not pay any attention to Prussia at all. Not one look, not one touch…nothing. And that did nothing but irritate Prussia. He _wanted_ Spain to…to…

But then Spain was leaving the shower. Before Prussia realized he was moving, he wrapped his hand around Spain's wrist. "You can't just…just tease me and walk away!" he said and shoved Spain against a slicked tiled wall.

"I wasn't teasing, Gilbert," he said innocently. Whatever lies he was going to say next were cut off by Prussia's mouth.

Kissing was still a relatively unpracticed skill for him. He kissed Spain almost awkwardly but not without passion. Spain didn't seem to mind at all. In fact, he made a pleased sort of sound in his throat and his hands came up to grip his hips. "Can't just leave me here…like…like…" Prussia was struggling to voice his emotions, to try and tell Spain what he wanted without sounding like a complete and utter moron.

"Like what, Gilbert?" he murmured against his ear. Prussia clenched his eyes shut when Spain's hands wandered lower, to caress the curves of his bottom.

"Like this, stupid!" Dammit, he was _horny_. Turned on. Aroused. Call it whatever – but Prussia wanted Spain to touch him in _that_ way. "Dammit, I hate you."

Spain kissed him then, slowly and almost lazily. His hand was bold now and wrapped around his length. Prussia gasped into his mouth and when Spain knelt in front of him, his brain just about shut down. The last time Spain's mouth had been that close, West had come to ruin everything. But now…now…

He had to brace his hands on the wall when Spain's mouth surrounded him. He couldn't look at him, couldn't even try to imagine that sight. "A-Antonio," he heard himself say. No. He didn't moan. Prussia didn't moan. Moaning was too damn girly, right? This was all _hideously_ disgusting for Prussia – the feel of his hot mouth around him, the stupid sounds it made, and even the sound of his own ragged breathing – disgusting. And he loved every second of it. Spain could never know that, though. Dammit, when Spain took him all the way down he thought he was going to die. He grabbed Spain, clenching his fingers into his hair, and he didn't want him to move from that spot. "Spain – Spain – _please_."

Damn it all to hell. He couldn't tell if Spain was laughing or choking (probably both, knowing him) and Prussia was so mortified. He didn't _beg_. What the hell was that? When Spain started to…to…(he could hardly think)…when he started to suck instead of doing that teasing thing with his tongue and teeth, he felt his knees go weak. Then he heard his traitorous voice twist out his name again. "_Dammit_, Antonio!"

It didn't last long enough. (What? It had been a few decades…centuries, maybe…) Prussia thought it was disturbingly like how they portray this in the movies – with fireworks and explosions and white light and other stupid nonsense. Well, Prussia saw the white light. He could hear himself gasping and was vaguely aware of his hips moving (Spain was not stopping him now). Spain's mouth was gone now and a nearly boneless Prussia slipped down into his arms.

Spain went to kiss him then but he turned his face away. "Don't kiss me with that mouth." The very thought of Spain kissing him after he had done _that_ was so disgusting…and so entirely provocative that he didn't know how he would react. He was afraid he would enjoy it…

Spain only laughed and kissed his cheek lightly. "Silly Gilbert. Silly, lovely Gilbert," he murmured, stroking his wet hair gently. There was nothing lovely about him. What the hell was Spain on, anyway? Prussia didn't have the strength (or will) to pull away so he merely grumbled and settled his head on his shoulder. What was he supposed to do now? Wasn't he supposed to…oblige Spain and give him the same experience? Did Spain want him to…to…

He didn't think he could do that. And the shower was growing cold. "Not a word of this to anyone," Prussia said, glaring up at him. Spain was genuinely confused but managed a smile.

"Who would I tell? Why would I tell? I don't want to share these experiences with anyone else, Gilbert. I don't want to share _you_, either."

What was he supposed to say to such an honestly spoken confession? He didn't want to share him? No one had ever said something so absurdly stupid to him before. "Don't be ridiculous," Prussia said and pulled away from him abruptly. He turned the water off and stepped from the stall. His mind was full of questions – what did he mean? What did Spain want with him? And…what was this curiously strange feeling that would seize his heart whenever he looked at him or thought of him?

Spain was brushing his teeth at the sink. Good. He didn't want to kiss him with that nasty mouth. (Yeah, he liked kissing. Shut up.) Then Prussia noticed just whose toothbrush he was using. "Dammit, Spain! I'm going to have to get a new toothbrush!" he said and stormed from the bathroom.

"What's the matter?" Spain called and his voice was muffled.

Prussia didn't answer. He knew Spain was doing that on purpose – stupid twit knew _exactly_ what was wrong. He dressed in his usual uniform – he had actually not worn it in a while, but if he was going to Spain's house, he wanted to go in style. Spain helped himself to his clothing and it was strange seeing him holding up another of his uniform tops to his chest. "Don't dress in that," he snapped and snatched it away.

He threw a black tee shirt and a pair of jeans at him. The Spaniard mournfully pulled them on and Prussia wouldn't admit it out loud, but he liked how his clothing clung to Spain. Two days ago, he would have never had this kind of thoughts. Two days ago, he would have never imagined Spain in his own clothing.

"W-we don't have all day," Prussia said suddenly and marched from the room. He was having too many strange ideas regarding Spain. The quicker he could get him home, the better. "Weeeeeeeest!"

His brother poked his head out of the kitchen, that ever present disgruntled look on his face. Prussia thought he heard little Italy complaining from the depths of the kitchen. He didn't want to know what they were doing in there. West was a kinky bastard sometimes. "Ja?"

"I'm borrowing your car," he said simply. (Why use your own car when you can borrow your little brother's car?)

Germany huffed and rubbed his forehead. "Do I even want to know why?"

"Morning Germany!" Spain said happily as he bounded up the stairs. He promptly wrapped his arms around Prussia and snuggled his face against his with unprecedented glee.

"Never mind," Germany said and disappeared back into the kitchen.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?" Prussia huffed and shoved the Spaniard away.

"Did what?" Spain asked innocently and followed Prussia into the garage. One of them, anyway. Prussia had spares of every single key West owned and since this was a dire situation, he selected the fastest car in his possession. It had a nearly unpronounceable name but it would get the job done.

"Gilbert, I don't want to go back," Spain said as Prussia gestured towards the car. He looked impossibly sad and Prussia was suddenly gripped with guilt. Stupid Spain and those stupid…stupid puppy dog eyes.

"W-we have to and you know it! You shouldn't be skirting your duties," he said firmly though it strangely felt wrong to say it.

"Couldn't we go to the park first? Don't you Germans have nice parks? Show me your parks, Prussia," Spain pleaded.

Once again, he was left wondering if a twelve year old was trapped in Spain's body. Spain's hand was pawing at him and his lower lip wobbled. Prussia sighed and rubbed his forehead which - for some reason - caused Spain to dissolve into laughter. "What the hell are you barking about?" Prussia said as he threw open the driver's side door.

"You looked _exactly_ like your brother doing that!" Spain laughed and cheerfully plopped into the passenger seat. At Prussia's dumbfounded look, Spain continued, nodding almost sagely. "You know, with the huffing and the rubbing of the forehead."

"Ah." Great. Now he was channeling his baby brother's mannerisms? He blamed this all on Spain. The car started with a very pleasing roar and his passenger immediately started fiddling with the obnoxious amount of controls on the dashboard. Prussia whacked his hands. "Stop that."

"Where are we going, Gilbert?" Spain said as he maneuvered the car from the garage. The sky was blue as far as he could see, with not a single cloud marring the expanse. It was perfect weather for driving. Or perfect weather for something else…

Spain was staring out the windshield with such a stupidly happy look that Prussia felt all that guilt ensnare him. It…it wouldn't be right to drive him all the way back to his house and keep him from enjoying this nice day. Yes. That sounded like a very good excuse for taking him to the park. Never mind the fact that Prussia was beginning to desire more time with Spain. Nope. This wasn't selfish at all of him. He simply didn't want Spain to miss experiencing this beautiful, wonderful German weather. He nodded and was very satisfied with his reasoning.

"We are…going to visit the park," Prussia said finally and his hands tightened on the steering wheel when Spain cheered noisily. He enjoyed pleasing Spain, though he wasn't sure why.

"It's a date, then!" Spain declared. Prussia nearly crashed into a tree then. Dammit. He didn't do dates. Dates were…girly things, weren't they? He sighed but managed to stop himself from rubbing his forehead. No. He would not turn into his brother.

"I hate you sometimes," he grumbled. But Spain just smiled at him serenely and reached over to kiss his cheek.

"Don't lie, Gilbert. You don't do it very convincingly."

Stupid Spain.

But he was right, though. He didn't hate him. Prussia was fairly certain at this point that he was completely in love – whatever the hell that meant, anyway. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do at this point but going to the park solved a great deal of his problems. Hopefully, he would find his answers there. So, to the sound of Spain's babbling, he took the road to his favorite park and put his worries aside, just for now.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note**: I would like to thank all the people that have added my story to their favorite's list. I do appreciate it. This section is sort of…meandering and unfortunately I seem to be no closer to ending the story. Please let me know if you find any horrid spelling errors or terrible grammar mistakes.

**Warnings**: There isn't anything too shocking in this. There might be potential historical inaccuracies.

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><p>For all the dramatics surrounding the social function that was dating, Prussia was beginning to think that it wasn't so bad. Spain wasn't making any unnecessary demands, wasn't complaining, and wasn't doing anything moderately unpleasant – aside from touching him far too much and gazing sappily into his eyes. He had grown accustomed to all the touching. No matter how many times he would push Spain's incessant hand away, it always managed to find its way back onto his arm or (alarmingly) his backside. Was Spain channeling some French perversion? The creeping of hands would suggest yes.<p>

All in all, he considered the morning to have been very pleasant. Spain had immediately dragged him from the car and dashed into the park, which was modest by most standards. The green expanse was heavily planted with trees and rolled down and around a large duck pond. They had the majority of the park to themselves, which was quite strange, given that it was a Sunday. (A lone pretzel vendor made slow tracks around the park, though, and he was the only other person in the vicinity.) Prussia spent the majority of his time simply _watching_ Spain. He watched him dance through the fields, climb a tree (attempt to, anyway), and roll down the hill. He had been precariously close to dropping into the duck pond. Prussia would have left him in there and drove home. There wasn't any way that he would foul up that wonderful car.

When Prussia would ask him if he'd ever been to a park (for he clearly acted like he'd never seen one before) Spain would proclaim, 'I've never been to a _German_ park,' as if there was something wholly unique and spectacular about _German_ parks. He had never been to a _Spanish_ park but imagined that it was fairly similar to the _German_ variety. A park was a park. Prussia told Spain those very words and then the Spaniard had looked at him quite seriously and declared, 'But you are in this park, Gilbert.' He nearly keeled over from the horrid (sweet) sappiness of such an absurd (wonderful) statement.

Prussia continued to watch from his spot on the hill as Spain crouched in front of a gathering of the cutest damn ducks in the world. The small creatures prodded at the country impatiently for food that he did not have. Spain chattered on annoyingly, both to the ducks and occasionally over his shoulder towards Prussia. He would only nod in response to whatever inane comment that fell out of his mouth. ('Gilbe~eert, aren't these cute?' or 'Gilbert, we should have brought bread!')

He stretched back on the grass and listened to Spain instruct the ducks in his heavily accented German. He found it ridiculous (and maybe a little adorable, not that he'd ever mention that out loud). These past few days were some of the strangest for Prussia. He felt as if his world had been turned upside down, as much as he loathed using such a common saying. He had always harbored strange feelings for Spain but had never been forced to examine them so closely and quickly. Once again, his mind turned to their shared past – when Spain had been much, much different. Spain had been in his life for such a long time but they had always kept a comfortable distance. For a few centuries, he had fairly terrified Prussia, with his rampaging through the New World and his insatiable need for conquest. Prussia did enjoy his own wars and country-grabbing, but preferred to keep things…relatively continental. The Spanish Empire had taken conquest to an entirely new level, one that the rest of the world quickly tried to match.

How strange that this once blood thirsty man was now crouching in front of a horde of ducks and blabbering away like an idiot. If one would have told him of this scene four hundred years ago, he would have laughed. Spain had been a _monster_ then. What was a duck to a maniacal, rampaging Spaniard? Dinner. The mere idea of beheading and cooking those ducks for food was probably sickening to Spain now.

To be honest, though Spain had lost most of his power and was weak both economically and militaristically, Prussia preferred him this way. His disposition was mostly gentle now (though he was still known to wave that halberd of his around every once and a while) and his personality pleasant and always happy. Prussia had admired him in the past for his strength (yes, he could both admire and be terrified at the same time), but now he admired him for his carefree and obnoxiously happy attitude. How he managed it, Prussia would probably never know. How _did_ he stay so upbeat when his country was in such dire straits? How did he do it?

"Gilbert, what are you thinking?" Ah. That's right. Spain had been quiet for some time now and when he opened his eyes (he didn't remember closing them), Spain was looming over him. His green eyes were wide and curious. Prussia fidgeted only mildly under that gaze. (And he was quite proud of how still he was able to remain.) "Please tell me."

"I…" He didn't want to admit that he had spent most of his time thinking about _him_. But why should he hide such knowledge anymore? What did he have to fear? Old habits were hard to kill, though. "I was thinking about how ridiculous you sounded, talking to those stupid ducks."

Spain always managed to smile, no matter what Prussia said to him. He leaned down to kiss his forehead and Prussia scoffed at that. He knew his face was flushed now and his heart was doing that fluttering thing again. He felt exposed here out in the open, with another man over him, touching him so tenderly… "Do you want to know what I was thinking?"

This was so…so damn sappy and girly, but he nodded anyway. Stupid curiosity. Spain touched his cheek and though Prussia's 'this is too mushy!' alarm was blaring in his head, he enjoyed such devoted treatment. (Dammit, he deserved it, didn't he? He was that awesome!) Spain didn't voice his thoughts but merely pressed his mouth to his. He kissed him as he usually did, slowly and lazily. Somewhere in the distance, he heard a door car shut. Normally, this would have probably caused Prussia some trepidation, but he was working very diligently to relax, to allow himself to simply _feel_…

Spain's fingers slipped into his hair and he was pressed into the grass. His mouth didn't leave his and he heard him make a sort of pleased sound in his throat. Prussia was growing very aware of the warm press of Spain's body and of how he shifted _ever_ so slightly atop him. Stupid bastard probably knew exactly what he was doing, getting him all flustered in public. It was probably his plan all along but perhaps…perhaps that wasn't so bad. He still hadn't any idea of what to do with his hands. Did his brother have this problem? (Strange to be thinking of _him_ during…during _this_.) Did his brother feel this awkward around cute little Italy? Did he struggle to comprehend the matters of heart and the desires of the body? Well, Prussia certainly did. He finally decided to wrap his arms loosely around his body. There. That didn't seem too terrible.

Spain's lips finally lifted and he gazed down at him with such affection that Prussia nearly looked away. He swallowed and suddenly felt anxious and searched for something to say or do. Having him look at him in such a way was…was…suffocating. The good kind. Well, the good and terrifying kind. What did his gaze promise? What did Spain want with him? "W-what were you thinking?" Prussia asked and cursed his idiocy. Couldn't he have thought of something better to say?

"Don't you know?" Spain said, his hand finding his cheek once more. He stroked his skin lightly and his lips quirked up. "Don't you know how much I -." Whatever he was going to say next was drowned out by the most grievous sounds.

"Oh hon hon hooon!" There was no mistaking that damn, hideous voice. "What do we have here, hm?"

If anyone doubted Prussia's strength, they should have seen him launch Spain into the air. He scrambled upwards so quickly that he nearly toppled over from the rapid change in blood flow.

France. Damn him.

France clapped his hands and swooned disgustingly. Right. This was becoming a bad habit – having people interrupt his…his special, nice time with Spain. What cruelty did he inflict to cause the world to act so poorly towards him? France's timing couldn't have been worse. Prussia felt as if the Spaniard was on the verge of saying words that he strangely _wanted _to hear. He never thought he would think such a thing and knew that if he actually heard those words, he wouldn't know how to react.

Stupid Spain recovered far quickly from the tumble and hopped to his feet. "Francis!" he cried happily and enveloped the taller man in a hug. What a dimwit. How could he go and just tackle _France_ as if they weren't _just_ sharing a potentially life changing moment? Was he really that vapid?

Prussia did not like this. He did not like seeing Spain's arms around that France. He didn't like how Spain smiled so happily and didn't like how France's hands _immediately_ slid down to squeeze at his backside. Couldn't he at least maintain some decency? "What the hell do you want?" Prussia said. Yes, he realized his voice was a bit shrill. And yes, that was a little telling. France smiled sharply.

"Prussia," he said as he pulled Spain as even closer. He could see an almost manic, possessive gleam in his eyes. "I didn't think you had it in you. But I must digress." He paused. "Antonio. We have been looking for you. I didn't think you would be here with _him_."

What did he mean by that? Prussia felt anger and jealousy clawing at him. He never thought he would be jealous over someone else. He folded his arms across his chest and held back every, biting word he wanted to say (a rare feat), especially when France looked at Spain with such wanton desire. But Spain wasn't returning such looks. His eyes were fixed on him. Spain laughed lightly and disentangled himself from touchy France. He loped back over to Prussia and wrapped his arms around him. "Of course I would be here with him. You are so silly, Francis. Why are you here? How did you know?"

France observed them for a moment and Prussia twitched ever so slightly as Spain took a rather possessive hold of him. Hm. This was a change he did not foresee. France sniffed and folded his arms. "I was sent to fetch you. I thought you would be happier to see me."

"I'm very happy to see you, as always. Perhaps this wasn't the best of times, though. Tell my brother that I will return tomorrow." Spain's tone had changed. His voice was firm, commanding and France's smile faded somewhat. "I know he sent you here."

"Well! Well…" France's shoulders slumped. "Yes, of course he sent me here. But I was worried for you, Antonio. It's not like you to run off without a word." He considered his words for a moment. "Well, you do run off a bit, but it's usually to me." He looked far too smug about that fact. Prussia wanted to hit him with a shoe then. (What? It was the only thing available.)

"Give me a moment, Gilbert," Spain breathed against his ear and then he could only watch as Spain dragged France back up the hillside. The pair spoke quietly and France did quite a bit of nodding. Then France put his hands on him and kissed him firmly on the mouth. Spain allowed it – he even embraced him. Gilbert turned away at the sight, which squeezed at his heart almost painfully.

Spain was beloved by so many. He should have known that something like this would happen. He was silly to think that -. His negative thoughts flooded the moment Spain's arms slipped around his waist. His head settled on his shoulder. "Gilbert, don't be upset with me."

"Of course I'm upset!" he said.

"But why? I didn't think that this meant anything to you." Spain sounded somewhat smug. (Ooh, alliteration.)

Prussia pushed out of his arms and whirled around. "I thought – I thought we had a…_thing_." That made perfect sense! Certainly!

"A _thing_?" Spain's eyebrows lifted. He was certain that idiot Spaniard knew exactly what he was talking about.

"Y-yes. I thought we were…that you…and I…" Dammit, he hated being flustered like this! Spain knew exactly what he was doing, he was certain of it. What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to react? He didn't want to be too telling. He didn't want Spain to know just how much he affected him already.

"You are adorable when you are jealous. Did you know that?" Prussia sank back onto the grass and dropped his head into his hands. He…he wasn't jealous. Prussia was too awe—ah, who the hell was he kidding? Yes, he was jealous. Jealous and maybe a little frightened of losing something –someone - he had only just acquired. But was he already that selfish, to feel that Spain belonged only to him…? The other country wasted not a moment and settled close beside him, an arm sliding around his waist. "What I want with you…what I want…well, it's not the same with Francis. I love him, but…" His words were hesitant and it was rare to see him uncomfortable with his words.

What did Spain mean, though? What could he say to that? At his silence, Spain pressed forward, speaking haltingly but not without feeling. "Francis is very dear to me. We have our difference, but the fact is…I rely on him a great deal. Probably too much. Yes, I love him but you are different. You have always been different."

"I don't understand," Prussia said, giving way to honesty for once. That felt strange, to admit that he didn't understand.

"France tells me what I want to hear. He'll go out of his way to make sure I'm happy and comfortable. You have never hesitated to tell me exactly what you are thinking, no matter how harsh those words might be. I've always appreciated that."

"But you let him kiss you. You allowed it."

"It was the only way to get him to leave."

He eyed him suspiciously and Spain threw his head back and laughed. "Well, it's true!" he managed.

"If we are going to have this…thing," Prussia began. He couldn't say 'relationship.' Not yet. "You need to stop letting people kiss you…and you don't need to kiss other people, either." He knew he was being very forward and demanding, but Spain's eyes practically lit up and he laughed once more.

"Oh? So, you only want me to kiss you? That's good because I only plan on kissing you. We can start right now," Spain said, leering at him.

Prussia carefully evaded his lips. "Not in public. What's this about France being sent by your brother? Do you trust France to relay the message? The last thing I need is Portugal harassing me." (Crazy, crazy Portugal.)

"We can trust France. Besides, I invited him to dinner for his good deed." Spain was much too happy about that.

Wait. Dinner? Dinner with France? "Did you just invite that frog into my house?"

"It's not your house. It's Germany's. I'm sure _Germany_ won't say no, especially when he promised Italy that he could cook with me." So. He plotted behind his back with that little (cute) Italian. Prussia could never be upset with Italy. He was too damn adorable. "Oh!" Spain leapt to his feet and hurried up the hill. The move was so sudden that Prussia flopped over and was left staring with much confusion at Spain's back. Spain bounded (he was always bounding someplace…) up the hillside and he disappeared over the crest. What was he planning now?

The Spaniard soon returned with a pair of giant pretzels and smiled happily down at Prussia. He plopped beside him and pressed the warm pretzel to his hands. "I've always wanted to try a _German_ pretzel. I wonder how tasty they are. That vendor was very nice too. Let me have one for free."

He was left wondering what Spain had used for money, but these pretzels couldn't have cost too much so he put that small worry aside. Spain bit into his pretzels and sighed rather dramatically, his eyes fluttering closed. Prussia thought the pretzel tasted…well, like a pretzel. But with the noises Spain was making, one would think it was simply the most divine tasting piece of food in the entirety of the world. Spain's pretzel didn't seem to last long and soon, his head pillowed against his shoulder. Spain's hand idly stroked at his thigh and Prussia mostly tried to ignore it.

Then the idiot decided it was a perfectly good idea to fall asleep. For the first ten minutes, Prussia stoically sat upwards but the soft snoring in his ear was beginning to irritate him. He gently pushed him into the grass and the man muttered something softly in Spanish and pawed at him. Prussia smacked his hand and Spain frowned, but soon quieted. Prussia rested his head against his knee and simply watched him sleep. This was fast becoming a habit for him, he supposed.

Spain looked so damn peaceful when he slept. How did he manage it? He was in such an unguarded state, exposed…before he realized it, his hand was on his face. His fingers gently stroked his face and hair. He was feeling bold, without those eyes to judge him, to watch him. Prussia leaned down and kissed his forehead. Well, he wasn't bold enough for anything else, though. Not yet…

The afternoon passed slowly and for the better part of two hours, Prussia kept watch over Spain's sleeping form. He had given into another temptation and stretched out alongside him. Spain had happily snuggled against his side and tossed an arm over his body. Prussia thought it was probably intentional but allowed it. He would never tell him, but he did like him this close.

Spain was groggy when he woke, but gave him a loopy smile and a tight hug. "Let's…go walking, Gilbert," he had said sleepily. At first, the 'walking' was merely him dragging a sleepy Spain around. The twit refused to let go of him and laughed every time Prussia would flush as they passed someone else on the sidewalk. Finally, Spain decided to stop draping himself over him and merely held his hand. He had frequently squeezed out of it but Spain's hand was always quick to find his.

They walked without any particular destination in mind. He had no idea how many storefronts he was forced to stop in front of so Spain could press his face to the glass and gaze longingly at whatever trinkets or goods on display. Spain had a comment for everything and talked cheerfully to every person that they passed. Along the way, Prussia acquired a small loaf of bread for Spain and his ducks. Upon seeing it, Spain immediately wanted to return to the park. Spain then spent the better part of an hour feeding all those absolutely cute ducks. But then the sun was fast drawing towards the horizon and darkness was clawing across the sky. Stupid…Earth rotation…(Yes, that was a perfectly valid insult.)

"I'm hungry," Spain finally said, signaling an end to all of…this…this day, which was probably one of the most revealing days of his life. Truthfully, he didn't want to go back. Going back meant sharing Spain with others and potentially exposing his true feelings to everyone else. He wasn't ready for that. He didn't want anyone else to know how far he had fallen already. Spain smiled at him so easily and his lips kissed his cheek. "Let's go, Gilbert. Italy's waiting."

Italy he did not mind. The little Italian could be so damn airheaded sometimes that he wasn't much of a threat. Germany probably already had some idea, since he had come upon Spain molesting him the other day. France…pervy damn France also knew…well, they all at least knew that he _desired_ Spain. Who did _not_ desire Spain?

But, they didn't know that he _loved_ Spain.

He wasn't ready for them to know.

And so when he finally parked his borrowed car in Germany's garage, he felt uncharacteristically anxious. Spain didn't seem to notice – he was practically bouncing with excitement and babbled endlessly of what kinds of foods he wished to cook and how cute Italy was and so forth. Spain leapt from the car and dashed inside, calling Italy's name and Prussia slowly (_agonizingly_) followed afterwards. But when he came indoors, he noticed Spain had stopped right in the entranceway to the front sitting parlor. His back was stiff and he seemed oddly hesitant. Then, he turned from the parlor and walked down the hallway towards the kitchen without a single word.

What brought that on? Prussia hurried to the parlor, wanting to see what shook Spain up so much. There was his brother, sitting on one of the plush couches. Huh. Germany never sat in here, not unless…his eyes turned to the other couch. And there he was, a cup tea in hand.

It was that stupid aristocrat.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N**: Thanks for sticking with me. I love the reviews I'm receiving and I count all the favorites and story alerts as silent reviews for doing a good job. I struggled with this chapter and was unsure of the direction, despite my outlines. I rewrote it many times and I still remained vastly unsatisfied. Please lend me your honest thoughts of where I can improve.

(I nearly completely changed the story to accommodate your thought, BloodRose21. Rawrzies, you had a very good thought and I tried to include it as well. CaffineAddict, thank you for your nice comment. I struggle with characterization sometimes.)

**Warnings**: Historical accuracies might be present.

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><p>Now, having Austria around wasn't entirely unusual but Spain's reaction to seeing him certainly was. Prussia fought back the immediate urge to begin harassing the stuffy aristocrat and was torn between going after Spain…and staying in the parlor. Austria looked to him and sniffed once, raising his chin. That urge of his was suddenly pushed beyond his limits. He sauntered over to the couch, hands in his pockets, and plopped right alongside Austria.<p>

The man managed to appear only moderately agitated. Ha. He'd soon change that. "So, _Austria_, what are you doing here? Don't you have your own country to bother?"

Austria's jaw tightened and he heard his brother sigh raggedly. "Italy saw fit to invite me over for dinner," he said finally. He'd have to have a talk with both Spain and Italy about inviting certain people to his house. "I did not realize that he invited Anton as well."

Who the hell was Anton? Ah. _Antonio_. Spain. Prussia was slowly beginning to realize that he was not the cause of most of Austria's irritation. He was preoccupied by something and that something was probably that tomato head in the kitchen. Prussia didn't spend too much time thinking about Austria's past. Austria had always been a thorn in his side and even more so when he married – ugh, _married_ – Spain.

That marriage gave way to the Spanish Golden Age and ushered in the very height of Spanish power and influence over the world. But he was never certain on their personal relationship. Spain probably didn't spend much time at home and Austria always preferred playing that stupid piano of his than doing any real work. He couldn't even picture Austria on one of those Spanish ships, sailing away with Spain to the New World. It was a laughable image. (He might have to draw that later.)

It was then that he realized that Spain hardly _ever_ talked about that time. He knew why he was reluctant to talk about his maniacal escapades overseas, but Austria had always remained a rather touchy subject for him. When he _did_ speak of Austria, it was always with a sort of wistful fondness, a lingering regret almost. Obviously, there was still some strife between them. This night was probably going to be difficult.

"Italy didn't invite him. _I_ invited Spain." Never mind the fact that Spain technically invited himself. The look of shock in Austria's eyes was worth the small lie.

"You? What interest do you have with Anton? Do you seek to take advantage of his good nature? He's very easily influenced and doesn't need to spend time with the likes of you."

Well, that little stuffy, stupid aristocrat. It was painfully obvious that he was grasping at straws for decent insults and was desperately trying to mask how much of an impact seeing Spain had had on him. And really! Spain was taking advantage of _him_! Mostly. "I'm not taking advantage of anything, stupid. He is my guest and you know what? He _enjoys_ spending time with me." So there! Ha! He folded his arms and nodded smugly.

"I – I won't stay here and put up with such horrid hospitality!" Austria declared suddenly. He set down his tea cup (quite gently) and then stood. Germany sprang up from the couch as well.

"Austria, if you leave, it'll make Fel—Italy very upset," he said and Prussia rolled his eyes. Cute Feliciano had his brother wrapped around his finger.

"So be it! I will not stay here and listen to…to _him_," he said and jabbed his finger towards him. "And listen to him all evening!"

"Oh, just let him go, brother," Prussia said, reclining back on the couch. His job was finished here. Operation Remove Austria was a success.

Austria stormed towards the entranceway (as gracefully as pansy, stuffy aristocrats stormed, anyway) but Spain blocked his exit. "Roderich," he said quietly and Prussia sat forward slightly when his sad (sad?) eyes gazed over Austria's shoulder and settled on him for just the briefest of moments. "Roderich, please stay. Feliciano has cooked so diligently and I…and I…" He struggled for his words but Austria's body seemed to lose some tension.

Austria spoke so quietly next that Prussia was unable to hear him but whatever he said had Spain smiling. Arm in arm, the two of them moved down the hall towards the kitchen. What…what was that? Germany gave his brother a mostly unreadable look before following after Spain and Austria.

"Oh, don't look so put out."

Prussia narrowed his eyes at the sight of France. He had forgotten about his unwanted invitation to this little dinner. The (perverted) man flopped on the couch opposite him and proceeded to places his feet on Germany's very polished coffee table. "Get your feet off of that, you harlot," Prussia said but France only laughed. If he scuffed up that damn table, Germany would have a fit.

"Someone's been studying their vocabulary like a good little boy, hm?" he said and stretched languidly. "But, as I said earlier: don't look so put out. Don't you know the history between Spain and Austria? Don't you know anything about him?"

Prussia felt affronted and opened his mouth to say so but then slowly closed it. No, he really didn't know what happened between those two. And the more he thought about Spain, the more he realized that he really didn't know much about him. Spain seemed to know everything about him, though. He knew how to talk to him, knew how to touch him, how to _look_ at him…but what did Prussia know of him? He couldn't speak Spanish very well, he didn't know much of his history, didn't really know what Spain enjoyed or liked…and he certainly felt like a fumbling idiot when it came to such things as touching him or…or that other sappy nonsense.

When he turned his eyes back to France, he was surprised to see a somewhat compassionate gleam in his eyes. "It's not very easy to know Spain. But you should learn more of him – specifically, learn his history and learn of his relationship with Austria."

"What can you tell me?" he asked before he could help himself. How odd it was to ask for his help. Normally he simply demanded it. That was his way. France smiled and studied his hands for a moment, before sighing.

"Those two were married. That much you probably already know, even if you were always occupied with other things during the Hapsburg alliance. You know how much he changed."

Yes. It had been gradual, but Spain _had_ changed and had been changing even before he married that stupid aristocrat. Before, Spain would always wish, would always dream…but when he aligned himself with Austria, he had the ability to obtain all that he desired and more. His personality suffered for it and he was very unpleasant (an understatement) for the longest time.

"So, I take it that their married life wasn't pleasant?"

"Of course not. Austria demanded much from Spain and their leaders even more so. Spain was never able to live up to their expectations no matter how hard he tried. In the end, that's what destroyed the alliance, along with foolhardy decisions by their leaders and rampant inbreeding, might I add."

"_You_ helped bring about the end, though."

France did nod to this and didn't seem at all guilty or regretful. "My leaders saw them weak and did not waste their chance. I also…well, I wanted Spain. Together, we would have been very powerful. I wanted him. I desired him. Don't forget, you had a hand in his collapse, as well."

"The last thing my leaders wanted was for you two to align. That would have been too much. We had to stop you." He remembered Spain always being very ill, always being reluctant on the battlefield. He went where his leaders commanded and during some wars, he wasn't even sure _who_ commanded him. Spain was nearly burned from the inside out and everything that had made him powerful was stripped away in a relatively short period of time. Yes. Prussia _did_ have a hand in it, but it was for good reason. Wasn't it?

Ah, it was never good to dwell on the past and especially not good to dwell on those few hundred years. The world had changed so fast and so rapidly, ultimately culminating in those world wars and his own demise as an official country. He rubbed his face with his hands and tried to shake off the negative memories. France seemed to be doing the same. "Well!" France started. "An unwelcome trip down memory lane, I think. But if you…if you love him, you should know. Things did not end well between Austria and Spain. Antoine loved him and loved him very dearly. He changed himself to fit his needs, to do what he and his leaders wanted, and it nearly destroyed him. Don't do that to him. Don't make him change."

Prussia could only stare at him for a moment, open mouthed, and suddenly he felt a smidge guilty. It was clear that France truly cared for Spain. Otherwise, he wouldn't be demanding such a thing from him. Spain had never really recovered from his alliance and never _willingly_ entered into another one. (There was that whole…Napoleonic…thing, but that was even more complex that the War of Spanish Succession.) In fact, Spain had distanced himself from the other European powers though he had always been willing to try to lend a hand whenever Prussia had asked for his aide.

"I wouldn't make him change. I don't…I don't want him to change," Prussia said quietly, hesitantly. This was probably the most serious conversation he had ever had with France. Prussia always treaded with hesitation in new territory. Why the hell would he make Spain change? He wouldn't want him any other way.

"Good," France said, nodding firmly. "Antoine has always been fond of you. I _always _saw how he looked at you. Oh, don't try to deny it. I'm not stupid." France paused and sighed deeply and when he spoke next, it was almost with an uncharacteristic haltingness. "You will care for him and do a good job of it; otherwise you'll have to answer to me."

Prussia tried to diffuse the situation with an insult – this was getting far, far too deep. "Of course I will, stupid. Don't be ridiculous." But France seemed quite unhappy and so he quickly tried to make amends. "I mean…listen…this-this _thing_ with Spain…I…" And now he was unable to go any further. He was too close to admitting what he wanted to keep hidden. France nodded, though.

"I know. Ah, Gilbert, I feel as if we are kindred spirits now!" France suddenly declared and flew to his feet. "I think we must hug. And perhaps kiss."

This time Prussia really did throw a shoe at him. "One. Don't call me that. Two. Never in a million years would I want to kiss a frog."

"Kissing? Vee, I loooove kissing!" Adorable, adorable Italy was smiling from the entranceway and he was wearing the cutest damn apron ever. "In fact, I want to kiss Germany so very much but we'll have to wait until after dinner! Come, come! It's ready!"

Prussia retrieved his shoe from the other side of the room, where a disgruntled France had tossed it. Huh. Dinner already? (He was just going to ignore the whole 'kissing' and 'brother' thing. That was weird to think about.) Italy must have taken the initiative and cooked before Spain arrived. That sounded like something he would do, anyway.

In any case, he found himself lacking an appetite but was unwilling to disappoint Italy and Spain. So, with some reluctance, he made his way down the hall and into the dining area.

* * *

><p>Dinner was a stilted and somewhat quiet affair, lacking any decent conversation. At least it was for Prussia. Italy plowed headfirst into conversation and usually ended his sentences with a "Vee, right Germany?" His brother would simply reply (without much thought at all), "Ah. Yes, Italy."<p>

Austria had settled himself in between Prussia and Spain for some obnoxious reason, so Prussia spent most of his dinner squabbling with him. They fought over the salt shaker (though Spain had said the meal didn't need salt), they fought over glasses, they fought over elbow room…but that was their way. France sat across from Spain and sighed after the third or fourth argument. "Oh, you two…stop flirting."

His sentence was met with heavy silence. Finally, Prussia felt his face flush. Him? Flirt? With _that_ man? He couldn't stand him! Stupid, stuffy Austria and his pompous air. Flirt? Pah. Austria spoke next with extreme reservation. Prussia could tell he was truly agitated.

"France. Once again you prove how unintelligent and insignificant you are. I would never lower myself to…to…how did you say it? To _flirt_ with someone like Prussia. Completely out of the question."

Wait a damn minute. Prussia was nearly one hundred percent certain that he was just severely insulted. "Hey now, ruffles," he snapped. "I think I'm a perfectly _good_ person to flirt with. You are just too boneheaded to realize it."

Damn, Austria's "affronted" look was perhaps one of Prussia's favorites. And then it hit him – was this…was this him _flirting_ with Austria? Was all their petty squabbling, their insults, and so forth – was that flirting? He sat back in his chair and considered this for a moment as Austria sputtered beside him. No. No, he was harassing him. Of course, he harassed him to provoke certain pleasing reactions, but flirting…he wasn't so sure about how to even flirt with someone else.

"No fighting at the dinner table!" Germany suddenly barked and they all lapsed into silence. His brother had that funny little vein throbbing away on his forehead, which meant bad things would happen if they ignored his order.

He caught Spain looking at him…but it wasn't the usual kind of look. You know - _that _look. The kind that always had him squirming? No, this was something different, darker. Prussia didn't have time to study it for long, for Spain turned away and began to speak with (cute) Italy in Italian. That gleam in his eyes was something Prussia had never seen and so he had a hard time pinning it down. It didn't look like anger.

It looked a little bit like jealousy.

Jealousy? Over what? Was Spain upset that he fought with Austria? Great. This was the last thing he wanted. This whole 'relationship' _thing _was getting very complicated. Had he offended Spain in some way? Did…did that look mean he still had some feelings for Austria? His mind was very adept for coming up with a myriad of increasingly horrid explanations for Spain's jealousy. Prussia was very preoccupied with this matter for the rest of the dinner. He hardly said a word and then quietly helped his brother clean the kitchen. (Germany only trusted him to assist in such an important task.)

When Prussia finally made his way back into the parlor, Spain immediately pulled him down beside him on the couch and wrapped his arm firmly around him. He didn't even interrupt his conversation with the others to do so. Right. This was new. Any time he moved to do anything , Spain was right there with him, an ever present hold on his arm. In fact, he even went as far as putting himself in between him and Austria when they decided to play a board game (at Italy's annoying insistence.) Spain demanded to be on his team so Austria had to pair with France. Italy naturally attached himself (literally) to Germany.

Germany won the game of strategy, though, with France and Austria as a surprising second. Prussia had been too busy contemplating Spain and his strange actions to be of any help in the game. Spain simply laughed though and didn't seem all that upset with the loss.

Finally, (finally!), France and Austria decided that it was time to leave. Prussia didn't usually bother with long good-byes and simply waved. Spain, of course, had to hug both of them, though his hug with Austria was very quick. (Haha, Austria. Deal with it.) When they were finally ushered out the front door, Italy declared that he was very tired and made Germany carry him to bed. (Really, Germany had no backbone when it came to Feli.)

Spain turned around very slowly and when he looked at him, he saw that same jealous gleam. Spain yanked him up from the couch and dragged him down the stairs. His hold on his arm was so tight that Prussia didn't even bother trying to pull from it, though he sputtered and protested the entire way down the flight of stairs. The Spaniard tossed him on the bed and before Prussia could explicitly demand what the _hell_ was going on, the man climbed atop him. "Gilbert," he began with some frustration, but then apparently thought the better of it and simply kissed him.

It was a different sort of kiss from the usual. No, Spain usually took his time kissing him, but this one was hard, insistent, pressing… "S-Spain…!" he managed and tried to turn his face away. What was this? Spain's gaze burned into his and he wouldn't allow him to turn away, for his hands clasped his face.

"You…said we had a thing," he said. He didn't like how seriously Spain was speaking.

Dammit, he was so confused! What was Spain going on about? "Yes. Yes, we have a t-thing. Spain, what's going on?"

"I want you all to myself." He said it so simply, as if Prussia should have already known. "I don't like to share, Gilbert."

Oh. _Oh_.

Spain really _had _been jealous of Austria. He had perceived him as a threat, as a challenge, and that realization suddenly explained Spain's strange behavior for the entire evening. Prussia could think of only one reaction to such a ridiculous explanation. He started to laugh. The more he tried to stop, the harder he seemed to laugh. "You…you are so _stupid_ sometimes," he gasped in between his laughter. "You think – you think I was…! And with Austria?"

Now Spain was the one so confused and if he wasn't laughing so hard, he would have probably thought he looked utterly adorable. (Spain was adorable in many ways, but his confused look was probably the best. It was also the one he wore most often.) Spain went to pull away, but Prussia wouldn't let him go far. In fact, he was feeling quite bold. It was easy to take advantage of a confused, distracted Spain. He quickly reversed their positions and pressed him into the bed. Ha! Now he had the upper hand. What to do with it, though?

Spain gazed up at him now and his eyes were so wide, so trusting that Prussia wasn't feeling so bold anymore. He pressed his lips to his, kissing him almost chastely. "You don't need to be jealous, Sp…Antonio." The situation warranted the change in names. "I don't – well, I don't feel that way towards Austria. So…so don't worry."

He was rewarded with a blissful smile and a gentle kiss. Spain stroked his cheek and he seemed to return to his usual 'ridiculously happy' state. Prussia liked him best when he was happy. It made him feel oddly accomplished. _He_ made Spain happy. He did. Just by saying a few words. It was a powerful feeling.

"I had wanted to speak with Roderich," Spain said as Prussia settled beside him on the bed. "We…well, we last saw each other so many years ago. But then you flirted with him and so I had to move to protect my interests."

"I wasn't flirting with him!" Prussia said and folded his arms. He thought he would be insulted by Spain's protectiveness but truth be told, that made him feel very…funny. It was a good kind of funny, though. He had never had someone feel possessive or jealous over him. He might have liked it. Just a little. (All right. Maybe a lot.)

Spain smiled again. "I know. I let my jealousy get in the way. Gilbert, you should know…I am very possessive." Spain propped himself up on his elbow and gazed down at him. "I don't share and I don't like competition. I want you and I want you all to myself."

Yeah, he blushed. Who wouldn't after having such words spoken to him? Perhaps they weren't the most romantic of words, but they sure made him feel very squirmy inside. He didn't know how to respond to such a declaration, either. There were a lot of 'unknowns' for Prussia – almost too many. He normally hated not knowing what to do or what to say. He never liked feeling helpless. But with Spain, he was beginning to grow comfortable with this unknown. Spain didn't demand anything of him or seem to find fault with anything he did. (Mostly.)

"A-all right. Okay," he said and had to clear his throat. (Damn emotional…_thingies_.) "You…you can…erm…" Well, even if he was _beginning_ to feel more comfortable about unknowns, he still felt ridiculous saying intimate (lovey-dovey) things. "You – I mean…_we_…" Hell.

There was a sudden long and drawn out sigh from behind him. Huh? "Oh, just spit it out before I gag." Prussia didn't want to turn around to discover the owner of that voice. No. That crazy man had better NOT be in his room. Hell, couldn't anyone knock these days?

"Brother," Spain said in such a small and very guilty voice. God dammit. Crazy Portugal _was_ standing behind him.

"Don't give me that look, António. Come. We should go before you create an international incident. And if I have to spend another moment speaking this dreadful language, I might just puke."

Dammit. _Dammit._ Why now? Why him? There was a reason Prussia never messed with the Portuguese. Those people were nutters. Probably too much salty, Atlantic air. "Couldn't this wait for the morning?" Prussia snapped and flopped over on his bed. Portugal -who bore a striking resemblance to Spain (only less cute and more sinister) - loomed over the bed. His arms were folded over his chest and he clenched his teeth.

"_No_, this cannot wait for morning. I've already covered for his lazy ass long enough. Questions are being asked, António. This is an important meeting and you know it. You must come back with me."

Spain sighed and he touched Prussia's arm gently. No, no, he didn't want Spain to go back with his creep of a brother. He could go back tomorrow. Dammit. Prussia was exasperated. This was the _third_ time someone saw fit to interrupt their time together. He was sure that he was on the cusp of revealing something important to Spain. He had nearly said those words…

"You are right, Portugal. I…I've spent too long here." The Spaniard reluctantly climbed over Prussia and out of the bed. Then he smiled (sadly) and leaned down to kiss his forehead. Great, it was one of _those_ good-byes. Prussia never dealt with these emotional sorts of good-byes often. No. He didn't like them at all. "Gilbert, I will see you soon." He lowered his voice when he spoke next. "Thank you. I…I..." He looked as if he wanted to say more but Portugal was a large shadow behind him. So, with a look almost akin to pain, Spain straightened himself and nodded.

Prussia sat up in the bed and remained silent, though his heart was thudding loudly in his chest. This was strange and once again, he didn't know what to say or do. But Spain seemed to understand, at least. He didn't seem angry by his inaction.

"Go on. We don't have all day," Portugal said and Prussia wanted to leap from the bed and strangle him, buuuut...that probably wasn't a good idea. So, Spain walked solemnly from the room then and Portugal stayed rooted on his spot. As soon as the man disappeared up the stairs, he was faced by the burning green gaze of a crazed Portuguese man.

"Stay away from my brother."

Then, he hurriedly followed after Spain and slammed the door to the bedroom shut.

Well.

Well, damn.

Prussia slowly sank back down against the pillow and he felt oddly…hollowed out inside. Was that a normal feeling? Or was he silly to feel this terrible over someone leaving so abruptly? What was he supposed to do? But he only knew one thing. He probably wasn't going to sleep that night…and he imagined that neither would Spain.

* * *

><p>(<strong>Additional AN**: I haven't yet heard if Portugal made an official debut within the Hetalia canon. Therefore, this Portugal is based mostly on my interactions with the Portuguese. I used to live an hour from Portugal and whenever I came across a Portuguese citizen, they were always a little bit crazy.)


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **I have no idea how long this story will last but I'll probably cap it at ten chapters. I know _what_ will end it, but it's just the journey to get to that point that might take a while. I still feel unsatisfied with these last two chapters. Let me know what you think. I also seem to like ending these chapters in similiar ways.

**Warnings**: Cultural or historical inaccuracies might be present. Geographical liberties might have been taken.

* * *

><p>He only lasted one full day in that house. No, he didn't sleep. He couldn't sleep. He knew that he was on the verge of <em>something<em> – something was in the process of happening between him and Spain. Yes, they had a 'thing.' Yes, Prussia was certain that he was in love with Spain. But the more he sat around (moping) thinking about it, the more he doubted his feelings. What was love? What was it? When he looked on the internet or pulled out dusty dictionaries, they all defined 'love' differently. Google (yeah, he used Google – he's awesome, after all) offered him over six billion search returns on love. _Six billion_. What was he supposed to do with six billion definitions?

All he could think about was Spain and that was driving him a little bit crazy. If love meant that one thought of someone all the time, he wasn't sure how much he liked it. Was Spain having this same problem or was Prussia just an idiot? Dammit. In those few, maddening hours after Spain's forced departure, Prussia must have scribbled a hundred pages in his diary. No matter how much he wrote, he could never seem to find an answer to his burning question.

He had to toss the journal away and commit himself to other tasks. So, he cleaned. He cleaned the bathroom, right down to the tile. When he happened upon the toothbrush Spain used to brush his disgusting mouth, Prussia couldn't bring himself to throw it away. He sealed it in a bag and shoved it into a drawer. There. No, he had no reasonable need to keep that dirty thing, but…

Anyhow, he tore into his bedroom next and cleaned everything he could touch. The dresser (where that plate was still sitting), under the bed, on the bed, the floor, the desk…everything he could put a hand on was scrubbed, dusted, or vacuumed. Sadly, by the time he was finished, it was still morning and Germany and Feli were probably just getting up. He stomped (yeah, _stomped_) upstairs and into the kitchen were a blearily eyed Germany was struggling with the coffee machine. Italy was bouncing in his chair at the kitchen table, halfway through a bowl of cereal.

"Vee, Prussia, where is Big Brother Spain?" he asked with disgusting cheerfulness. He had to dam the rush of petty anger towards his comment – Italy didn't know that Spain had left in the night.

"He…" Prussia nearly ripped off the door to the cabinet when he opened it. "He had to go back home, Feli."

Italy wore his expressions on his face, as always, and he wasn't able to bear that horrid look of sorrow that passed over his face. Damn him and his…stupid…stupid…Dammit. His knuckles were white on the innocent bowl he yanked from the cabinet.

"Gilbert, sit down." His brother was at his side now and his hand gently rescued the bowl from his grip. His words had been softly spoken and he looked sharply up into his eyes. He allowed his brother to take the bowl and then he nodded. Fine. He would sit down, if that's what Germany wanted. He yanked a chair out and sat down across from Italy, who was now – with great sadness – finishing up his cereal. A steaming mug of coffee was placed in front of him and then a bowl of cereal. "Eat," Germany ordered.

He didn't have much of an appetite, though. He turned the mug around and around in his hands, even when Germany sat beside him with his own (much larger) cup of coffee. Prussia stared down into the mug and refused to look up, but he heard Feli leave eventually. Germany remained and he listened to him flip through the newspaper. Prussia finally decided to ask that question that had been eating away at him for hours.

"How do you…" But then he felt ridiculous. When he raised his eyes, though, Germany was watching him intently and the newspaper had been carefully folded and set aside. He plowed through the question in a rush. "How do you know if you are in love? I mean. How did you know with Feliciano?"

The silence was heavy. He had expected that. It's not like they often spent time in this family sitting around discussing _feelings_ and whatnot. Prussia never did fulfill his parental/brotherly duty and give Germany a talk about love and _sex_ and all that other…stuff. No, he never did, mostly because he never received that talk either. Germany drummed his fingers on the tabletop for a moment and then took a long drink of his coffee.

His voice was uncharacteristically rough and quiet when he spoke next. "It is…it's hard to describe," Germany said. "One day I was alone and completely situated and at peace with my place in the world…the next day there was Feliciano. Now, nothing seems to make sense or go to plan. The only constant seems to be my worry for Italy and my constant desire to secure his wellbeing and his…and his happiness…"

"Oh." Prussia was struggling to process all that Germany had said to him – and it was much more than those words. When had Germany matured so much? When had he gone from only doing what was right and sensible for him to…to changing everything he did to accommodate ( and willingly so!) Italy's needs?

Germany leaned forward and spoke again, unprovoked. "When your thoughts are only of him, when all you want is to be with him, and your only desire is for his happiness, you are in love. At least…that's how it is with me and Feliciano." He said his name so fondly and Prussia stared at his little brother open mouthed. He was a different man, now. When had this happened? He bowed his head again.

West stood and his hand settled on his shoulder. "You'll understand. I think you already do."

What the hell did that mean? He watched Germany return to the coffee pot and open the jar of sugar. He frowned and sighed. "Out of sugar," he mumbled.

"There's some in the pantry," Prussia said as he finally took a sip of his coffee. It was bitter and harsh. Unsweetened. "I need some, too." His words were mostly afterthoughts since he was now consumed with Germany's puzzling words. His brother so honestly admitted his feelings for Feliciano. Years ago, he would have never expected this. (He also never dreamed that they would have such a…touchy-feely conversation.) He didn't seem all that bothered talking about his feelings with him, either. Sometime, and somehow, his brother had become the more mature of the two. Perhaps that's why he still endured as a country. Prussia always had difficulty accepting change and allowing others to get close to him.

"Gilbert." Huh? His brother was standing by the open pantry and there was a small, red envelope in his hand. "The sugar is gone. This has your name on it."

What…? He had just bought that sugar a few days ago! Two for one discount, too! (Shut up. Yeah, he did the grocery shopping and he did a damn awesome job of it, he thought.) Prussia stood and ripped the envelope from Germany's hand. Written on the front of the envelope in an almost unintelligible scrawl was his name. Gilbert.

Why the hell were his hands shaking as he opened it? He turned away from Germany when he pulled out the small piece of paper with that same, scribble-scrabble handwriting on it.

"Gilbert,

I've always wanted to try **German** sugar.

Antonio."

The note was so damn ridiculous (and filled with horrible spelling mistakes) that Prussia started to laugh. Stupid Spain…and his stupid sugar. Germany wisely distanced himself from the (slightly maniacal) laughter and returned to the kitchen table. When did Spain have time to write this and make off with all the sugar? Why did he do so? (But then, when do most things Spain did make any sense?) He handed the note to Germany and tried to smother his laughter. His brother quickly read it and one fine eyebrow rose.

"Well, you know what this means," West said as he carefully folded the note and slipped it back into the envelope. He stood and pressed the message back into Prussia's hand. "You must go and rescue the sugar."

His brother said it was such seriousness that it did nothing to stop the flood of laughter. Oh yes. He _must_ rescue that sugar. He must. And when he rescued that sugar he would…he would…His laughter slowly ebbed away. This was so much more than sugar. This note was his fuel, his kick out the door. He had something very important to tell Spain and he was now determined to do so.

"You may borrow the car again," Germany said simply as he began to clear the kitchen table of the mess. His love for his little brother swelled suddenly and he flopped against him, pulling him close in his arms.

"Awww, West, you are so sweet," he gushed. Germany's face reddened ever _so_ slightly but he did return the hug.

"Now, get the hell out of my house," he said gruffly, pushing him towards the door.

"Really, Germany…" Prussia began. How could he even begin to thank him? Germany had done so much for him just now. His brother, though, gripped his shoulder and nodded.

"I know."

Yeah. His brother really was more mature. Prussia liked to think he had something to do with it. With a last, final look of thanks, he hurried from the room. The next hour passed relatively quickly. Prussia was no longer moping, no longer without a feasible goal…now his day felt renewed. He was going to Spain. He was going to rescue the sugar.

He was going to confess something very important to Spain as well. But first – the journey. Dammit. The _drive_. He tossed a duffle bag (which he had stuffed with whatever he thought was important) and shoved it into the trunk of his brother's Volkswagen. The drive was so long. He threw caution (and boredom) to the wind and took to the roads. And drove. And drove…

And drove some more…

Getting through France took the longest. He hadn't been to the country since a certain war and frankly, he didn't miss it much. He would drive until he was too agitated and then he would find some cheap place to stay over for a few hours. Germany wouldn't mind him added this to his ever growing credit card bill.

Prussia hadn't been to Spain in decades…_decades_. The country had changed considerably in that time, so much so that it was wholly unrecognizable. But, the car had a built in global positioning system so he relied on that to find his way into Madrid. He had only one remaining obstacle. Just _how_ was he going to get into Spain's house? Prussia parked the car in a public garage and spent hours wandering about the city, looking for Spain's house. His Spanish was atrocious but he thought he would recognize where Spain lived. He couldn't recall receiving any word or notice of Spain moving to a different location.

Yep. Spain's house was still in the same spot. But now it had massive iron-wrought fences surrounding it and armed guards patrolling the grounds. How would he get in? How could he see Spain now? (Come to think of it, how the _hell_ did Spain sneak by the security at his house?) Prussia settled on going into the visitor's office, which was a too-warm, stuffy little room posted just outside the fences. The heat inside probably had something to do with the amount of people crammed into the small space.

Prussia had to take a number and wait his turn. He found a Spanish-language guide and held it tightly in his fists (along with his passport) as he tried to determine what exactly to say. He wasn't a country anymore so his title held no weight. He was just…Gilbert. He had come to terms with his new identity decades ago though he never had to be faced with being 'just Gilbert' like this before. It made him feel strange and isolated.

When his number was finally called, he was no closer to knowing what he was supposed to say. He shuffled up to the woman behind the desk, who simply stared up at him with a somewhat bored look.

"Um…" Prussia began and then held out his passport. She looked over it with the same disinterest and then back at him. He peered down at the Spanish language guide and hoped the next words he said made sense. "I would like to see Spain." Oh yes. His accent was atrocious.

"Heelberto?"

Huh? She pursed her lips and slapped a finger on his first name. "Heelberto?" she repeated.

"Oh. Yes. Gilbert."

"Heelberto."

"_**Gil**_bert…?"

"Heelberto Bels…Belschidmtia…"

Good try on her part but he was beginning to wonder why she insisted on saying his name. He merely nodded to her words and she turned away and hurriedly began typing on the computer. Then, she yanked his passport off the desk and stamped it a few times before thrusting it back into his hands. She took up a small badge from some dusty place in her desk and clipped it to his shirt.

What the hell…? On the badge was a picture of him. He hadn't any idea of when it was taken. Underneath a large, red bold word that looked vaguely like 'visitor,' he saw his name. "Gilberto Beilschmidt."

Gilberto. With an o? Ah. He guessed that's what that "Heelberto" was all about. Hmm. His name didn't sound half bad in Spanish. 'Heelberto.' Nope. Rolled off the tongue quite nicely. He wondered how it would sound if Spain said it. (He'd have to ask him to say his name in the Spanish way…)

The woman snapped her fingers in front of his face, drawing him from where his mind just traveled and she pointed to the back door of the little trailer. "Go, go," she said in Spanish and gestured again. He hurried out the door and into the compound proper, passed the iron fences. The guards hardly gave him a look. Prussia stopped to examine the badge again.

The picture was an old one, perhaps taken several decades ago. He gently brushed his fingers over the card, wiping away dust. It was then that he noticed the smaller words underneath his name. "Reino de Prusia." Oh. This was very old, then. When and why did Spain have it made? Had Spain expected him to come over often…? That thought alone caused his stomach to twist with guilt. Spain, up until this very point, had always come to him. Well, perhaps that wasn't entirely true. Prussia _had_ visited Spain, but it was always under orders. He always came because someone ordered him to. He had never come _just_ to visit. Spain frequently came over to his house – only to see him, it seemed. (Yes, he had his 'excuses,' but Prussia was fairly confident in thinking that Spain came over to see him.)

In fact, the very last time he had come to Spain was during the war. He'd come, on the behest of his brother's boss, to ask for Spanish assistance. (See? He came on orders.) Prussia could clearly picture a weary Spain greeting him near these very gates, with that ever present, ever stupid smile on his face. Spain's house had been in disrepair then and the entire country had a muted look about it, so unlike the vibrancy of today. 'Prussia, I can't give you much help,' Spain had said. 'I'll do what I can for you.'

And Spain had tried and for just his small part in the war, he had been shunned for decades. He never recalled Spain complaining – _ever_ – for what he had to endure. Why had he done it? Why had he risked so much? Spain just confused the hell out of him – he did then and he did now. Stupid Spain and his stupid mysterious badges. He would never admit that this badge made him feel…well, pretty damn good, like he meant something to Spain, even all those years ago.

When he set his sights on the grand doors to Spain's house, someone quite…unfavorable was standing there. Really, this man was the last person he wanted to see.

Portugal.

Portugal's arms were folded across his chest and he watched Prussia with what seemed like loathing. Oh, he was going to go that route? Well, Prussia could meet him every step of the way. He glowered at him and marched forward, after placing his (now shiny) badge back into place. When he reached the set of stairs that would take him into the house, he glared up at Spain's brother. "I'm here to see Spain."

"Ha," Portugal snorted. "You have been a bad influence on my brother. Why should I allow you to see him?"

"Oh, so now you are Spain's keeper, hm? He's a big boy, Porty. He can take care of himself. What are _you_ doing here? Can't you go back and bother your own country?" It was an insult he had used before (probably on Austria), but he was too damn irritated to think of anything else.

Portugal threw his head back and laughed. Prussia's temper flared hotly and he clenched his fist. Breaking Spain's brother's nose was probably _not_ a good idea.

"I am here in talks with Spain. You know, big kid country stuff. Unfortunately, he spent the first few days of the summit in Germany, with _you_. Don't you remember, you idiot?"

Stupid damn talks. He had forgotten that. And what the hell did he mean, 'big kid country stuff?' "I want to see him!" he said stubbornly. He didn't have to explain himself to Portugal and proceeded to stomp up the stairs and push passed him. Portugal's hand seized his arm and he was pulled roughly back.

"You aren't seeing him until you tell me _why_. My brother doesn't need any more distractions. It's hard enough getting him to stay on task." Portugal was friggin' strong and dammit, Prussia was beginning to realize where Spain got his crazy from. He squashed his temper (though it was like trying to contain a raging…buffalo or something…) and looked up at him. He didn't like how similar Portugal's eyes were to Spain's.

"I…" Now he was unable to meet his gaze. "Look, I want to talk to him. I…want to see him. Please."

The grip on his arm went slack and Portugal sighed deeply. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Prussia was giving the door frame a very close inspection. He didn't want to face whatever look was gleaming in Portugal's eyes. He heard the man sigh again. "Well, you said the magic word, potatoes. Come on."

He had to bite on his tongue to resist jumping him right then and there. _Potatoes?_ What the hell was he on? Portugal took him up and into Spain's house. He moved quickly through the ornately decorated halls, which were all dressed in the same color palette: red. Spain had always been abnormally fond of the color red. Red carpets, red curtains, red pillows on the little sofas and chairs…Prussia almost found it to be distasteful, as he was accustomed to Germany's muted decorating sense. (His brother's decorating habits had improved since he came across Italy, though.)

Men and women hurried up and down the halls. Some clutched file folders, while others had their mobile phones glued to their ears. They all had the same, frazzled look on their faces, however. Bureaucrats. He didn't miss them on bit. Pen pushers, he liked to call them. He did enjoy getting underfoot back at Germany's house. The horde of bureaucrats had learned early on not to mess with Prussia. Don't mess with old, retired countries.

After a series of twists and an obnoxious amount of stairs (three flights, dammit! He was out of shape), Portugal paused beside a very nondescript brown door at the end of a long hallway. "This is his office. He should be in there somewhere."

When Prussia reached for the door, he was suddenly seized by the collar. Portugal nearly yanked him off his feet and lowered his face close to his. "If you hurt my brother, I will hunt you down and cut you into little pieces. Do you understand?"

Right. Portugal was damn crazy.

He was terrified. Not that he would ever admit it. But that fire in Portugal's eyes flared hotly at his silence and he was given a good shake. "Y-yes! Yes. I understand."

He was released and Portugal idly smoothed out the wrinkles of Prussia's collar, nodded once, and proceeded back down the hall without another word. What a weird man…and well, he was glad, strangely, that Spain also had a brother that seemed to care for him. He turned the knob carefully, quietly and slipped into the dimly lit room.

The first thing he noticed was that Spain wasn't here. Not that he could blame him for wanting to escape. Enormous piles of paper littered a large, dark wood desk. Countries really didn't give orders. Their bosses controlled everything they did. Spain probably just had to read all of that and sign them, just so he knew what he should be doing. Really, it was a strange and difficult life, being a nation personified. Normally, it didn't make much sense, especially during these times of peace. Not many of them led armies or had militaristic ventures. It was all about international cooperation – for most. There were still _other_ countries (like America) that preferred…more direct methods of 'communication.'

Prussia briefly wondered if Spain was trapped underneath one of those piles. A set of glass paned doors behind the desk were wide open, revealing what seemed to be a small garden.

Prussia remembered these gardens – hadn't seen these in at least a century or two. When he was last here, Spain was at one of his lowest points then; right after that kid Mexico declared independence. Prussia and France had gone to him after not seeing him for days and they listened to him rage for hours. (France had saw fit to drag him from his war at the time and all the way to Spain.) It wasn't a very pleasant memory. He thought he would never see this place again and that negative memory pushed at him. Spain had been so different then…

He wandered through as quietly as could be. Sudden, odd apprehension clawed at him. He had never done something this spontaneous before. What if…what if Spain didn't want him here? What if he made a mistake? Hell. Prussia sighed deeply and rubbed his face with his hands. He came this far – might as well see this to the end. He wanted to see Spain.

The gardens were rather small and in a walled, enclosed area. Only Spain had access to this place, a rare retreat from the pressures of his duties. Spain once told him that he escaped here many times and often dreamed of scaling the walls and setting out on some (probably ridiculous) adventure.

And there was Spain, out in the middle of a small clearing off the main path of the garden. He was sprawled out in the grass and he was (of course), asleep. Why was he always sleeping? He was strangely wearing a suit and tie, but then Prussia remembered he had been involved in those silly meetings. Usually a certain level of decorum was called for. The attire made him appear oddly…domesticated. Tamed. Truth be told, he really didn't like seeing him in such clothing, even _if_ he looked pretty damn hot. (What? He _was_.) Perched on the top of his head was a pair of glasses. Poor Spain – he was getting old.

Prussia sat down in the grass nearby, not wanting now to disturb Spain. The urge to prod his cheek was nearly overwhelming. No. No, he couldn't wake him up. (Not when he was sleeping so damn cutely.) He drew his knees up to his chest and simply watched him.

How long could Spain sleep, anyway?

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><p><strong>AN**: I have never been to Madrid, nor do I know where "Spain's house" would be or what it would look like. So I made a great deal of it up and actually based it off a trip I made to Amsterdam once. .


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Thanks for reading. Sorry it took me so long. Hetalia's Halloween event distracted me, along with work. Let me know what you think. I'm feeling rather iffy about this. Thank you for the reviews.

Warnings: The usual.

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><p>So, how long <em>could<em> Spain sleep?

Apparently hours. Hours and hours and hours. Long enough that the sun was going down and Prussia was getting hungry. He hadn't anything to eat for hours and hours and desperately wished he had brought some snacks. (Popcorn…for Spain watching…) In fact, only the sound of a mobile phone (with an obnoxiously cheerful tune) caused Spain to wake. He groaned feebly and fumbled for the offending device. "Hola," Spain mumbled after he pressed it to his ear. He listened to Spain ramble off some more words in Spanish and then he snapped the phone shut.

For a full minute, Spain didn't move but then he heard him sigh and mutter quietly in his native tongue. Dammit, he was cute. Prussia had to press his fists to his mouth to keep quiet. He scratched at his abdomen for a moment and then rolled to his knees, facing him. Spain didn't seem to notice him for a moment but then his eyes grew almost comically wide.

"P-Prussia…?" He nodded and let his hands fall from his mouth, knowing that he must have looked silly. "Prussia – _Gilbert_ – you came…"

"I came to see you," he said and was suddenly feeling shy. He picked at the grass idly and tried to appear unaffected.

He moved faster than he had seen him move in quite some time, scrambling across the small distance. Spain threw his arms around him and dragged him close. "You came to see me," Spain murmured. "You came for me, Gilbert."

Prussia's face felt hot. "Y-yeah. Yeah. I came to see you…and to rescue the sugar."

Spain chuckled and pressed his face to his shoulder. Spain didn't seem to want to move. He held him closely and his hands stroked at his back. "Never mind the sugar, Gilbert." His voice was different just then and suddenly Spain pressed him down into the grass. "I don't want sugar. I want you."

"Gilbert," he said and kissed him gently. "You came for me." Why was that so hard to understand? He reached up and brushed his fingers across his skin and knew it a very uncharacteristic gesture for him to perform.

"Spain…" Why did he doubt his intentions? He wasn't used to seeing that emotion in Spain's eyes. He wasn't used to seeing uncertainty, hesitancy, doubt…and he didn't like it. "I wanted to see you. I wanted to…to…say…" But Spain only smiled and kissed him again.

Yeah, he missed this. Prussia could count on one hand the number of people he kissed over the years and Spain was by far the best at it. Of course, Spain could never just kiss. His hands were already wandering, already tugging at his clothing. His fingers wormed under his shirt and stroked idly at his chest.

"Sp-Spain, we can't…erm…" Can't what? When Spain pulled away (ever so slightly), his eyes had that look in them. It felt like he hadn't seen that look in so long. His stomach was already in knots and his breath was quickening. He wanted what that look promised.

"I don't want you to say that name, Gilbert." Old games again, eh? "Say my name. My _real_ name."

But it felt too damn ridiculous to do what he ordered! (Like those gushy romance movies, where the lovers would say each other's names over and over. Bleh.) "Please Gilbert?" Spain kissed him lightly again. Somehow he managed to get his shirt open as well. Crafty Spanish fingers…

"Make me." Why he felt like challenging the man, he didn't know. Spain would ultimately win in the end (…and Prussia was pretty sure he _wanted_ him to win.) That look in Spain's eyes darkened and Prussia nearly squirmed.

"I see," Spain said, his fingers dancing lightly on his abdomen. "Make you, hm? Silly Gilbert. You know I'll win."

Smug bastard.

"I'll win and my receptionist at the front of the building will know it."

…what? Prussia's brain slowly processed that one and then he shoved Spain off. "Shut up. I'm…I'm not loud. I mean…not like _that_…not during…you know…" Hopefully Spain was up-to-date on translating Prussia-isms because that's as far as Prussia was willing to go with those thoughts. He was certainly _not_ loud in the situation Spain implied. Though, Prussia had never really been in that situation, so he couldn't be certain. The entire idea was mortifying and embarrassing. Spain just smiled and threw his arms around him again.

"You are so cute when you are flustered and embarrassed, Gilbert!" He rubbed his cheek against his and Prussia begrudgingly allowed such contact. (Okay, okay. He really liked snuggling. Secretly.) For a few minutes, Spain hummed and held onto him and Prussia wasn't willing to move, to disrupt this quiet moment between them. His stomach was growling in protest and he did desperately want something to eat.

That stupid damn phone of Spain's went off again and Spain shot out of his arms. He whipped it out and pressed it to his ear. "Hola!" he said very cheerfully, but then the smile disappeared off of his face and his shoulders slumped. "Si." A pause. "Si…" A longer pause and then he close the phone and tucked it away.

"I'm late."

He seemed unwilling to put forward what he was late to and Prussia huffed. "Late to what?"

"Oh, some state dinner…thingie…" he answered almost causally and suddenly seemed quite interested in the state of the grass.

…what? What? State dinners weren't 'thingies' as Spain so eloquently put it. Granted, such social events probably didn't hold as much weight as they did years ago, before the advent of computerized communication but they were still extremely important events. Spain would be expected to attend, to be _on time_, and his absence would not be overlooked.

"Spain, you need to go." Prussia knew only too well that pissing off their leaders was not a good idea at all. But he understood his reluctance. Prussia hadn't been to a state dinner or any such event in decades but the stress would always stick with him for days. Dinner _wasn't_ just dinner. It was political posturing, it was being friendly to enemies, and entirely too much talking was involved. Then, sometimes there was dancing. Ugh. Dancing.

"I know I should," Spain said unhappily. "But only if you go with me." Those big, stupid eyes of his looked pleadingly up towards him. "You will go with me, right?"

How the hell could he say no to him? But there were other obstacles to contend with.

"You know I can't," he said quietly. "No one recognizes me as a country."

"W-well, the others are allowed to bring a guest. You'll be my plus one. Please, Gilbert."

Prussia wasn't going to point out that countries usually didn't _bring_ guests. But he didn't like seeing Spain so…so sad. "Fine. But I have nothing decent to wear." It was probably one of those fancy, black tie events.

Spain kissed him and Prussia was surprised at how easy this all was…how easy it was to kiss him, how easy it was to hold him in his arms…did they really have to go? He was beginning to desire just staying right here. Spain's happy face looked up at him and he felt a blush creep up his neck and face. "I think you look wonderful in whatever you wear!"

Stupid Spain. Of course he would. "T-that's right!" Prussia said. "I am the awesome one. Who cares what I wear?"

Spain leapt to his feet and dragged him up as well. His hand clutched his and he was pulled through the garden and only half listened to Spain chatter away about the dinner. Into the office they went and Spain's hand tightly held his. But before Spain yanked open the door, Prussia was suddenly shoved against the wall and Spain kissed him…quite thoroughly.

"Thank you, Gilbert," he said and his fingers brushed over the name badge on his chest. "Gilberto."

Yeeeeah. He really did like Spain saying his name that way. But he'd never tell the man. That would be too…too…relationship-y. Prussia still had his doubts about the whole 'relationship' idea. He didn't really have much time to ponder his doubts, though. Spain was dragging him down the hall and into another room. He listened to the Spaniard babble happily and was treated to the sight of him running about with hardly a stitch of clothing on. He finally settled on a suit and carefully put it on and then struggled with the tie.

"Gilbert, don't I look sexy?" Well of course he did. Idiot. Not that he needed to know, though.

"No. That tie looks like a strangled noodle around your neck. Come here." (Dammit, he had been spending too much time around Italy.) Spain's shoulders slumped and he scooted over to him. Prussia quickly tugged his tie loose and then began to secure it the _correct_ way. Spain's hands wandered upwards, to 'help', but Prussia smacked them lightly. With the tie in place, he then buttoned his suit jacket and smoothed the fabric of his shoulders. "There. You…you…erm…" Spain was looking at him like he'd just kicked a puppy or something. (No! Not the kicked puppy look!) "You are sexy. Moron. You know it."

He was rewarded with a kiss (which was much too quick) and then Spain sighed, very deeply. He knew Spain was apprehensive and that was strange to experience. Prussia always thought the man to be full of everlasting confidence and yet here he was, nervous about a state dinner. He didn't know what words to say and felt…horrible for it. Spain always knew what to say to him and he wanted to do the same for him. He felt wholly inadequate all of the sudden. But he heard his name and snapped back into focus. Spain was waiting by the door and his hand was outstretched towards him. "Please come with me." Of course he would. How could he not? Though he felt undressed, inadequate, not qualified…but Spain gripped his hand gently in his and suddenly it didn't seem so terrible after all.

* * *

><p>Stupid damn politics.<p>

Prussia hated politics. He was more of a...'kick ass now, ask questions later' kind of country. All of this politicking over fancy food and expensive wine was as boring as hell and incredibly annoying. Worst of all, he had been separated from Spain and was forced to sit with a bunch of South American countries. That wasn't so bad, really. It was who was sitting with _Spain_ that was the problem.

France. That slimy frog. Portugal was up there too so hopefully he wouldn't let _things_ happen between France and Spain. Worst of all, his damn little brother and the Italian brothers were up there too. That was wholly exasperating. If West was going to come to Spain's house anyway, why didn't he say so in the first place? He had no idea that Germany had been invited to this state dinner, but he supposed it made sense.

Spain was obviously enjoying himself: the smile never left his face. Prussia tried to push down the jealousy (and loneliness) that was welling up inside of him. That was childish of him. But he wanted so entirely to be right up there. And then again, he didn't, because then the others would know too much. Dammit. This relationship shit was complicated.

The first half of the dinner was full of…stifled conversation. The South Americans really didn't seem comfortable with a random ex-European country in their company. It didn't help that Prussia continuously glared daggers at France. As the meal progressed from appetizers to the main course, the younger countries quietly spoke amongst themselves. Some of them argued with each other, but it was mostly civil. Brazil, however, was bold. She smiled toothily up to Prussia.

"Your face is going to get stuck like that, you know," she said and casually continued on with her meal. He nearly choked on his…whatever this was…and folded his arms across his chest. A few of the other countries snickered behind their hands.

"You like cousin Spain?" Brazil continued. "Is that why you are glaring at France?"

"I…don't know what you are talking about," he evaded (lamely.)

She (wisely) decided to be quiet and he tried his best not to pay any attention to Spain and his table. He didn't have much in common with these countries and felt mildly uncomfortable in their presence. After all, he only was allotted this seat because Venezuela was having another spat with Spain's leader. So, he hardly spoke with them though they certainly weren't unfriendly towards him. After dessert (which was some awesome pie) the dishes were cleared away and most of the countries began to rise and drift towards the adjoining ballroom. Dammit. Not dancing.

Prussia didn't dance.

France apparently did, though. He already had Seychelles out on the dance floor and his arms were wrapped around her waist. Italy was apparently trying to talk his little brother out onto the floor but he was steadily refusing. Hungary and Austria had already succeeded in stealing the spotlight with their magnificent choice of clothing and impeccable style of dance. Hell. Normally he wasn't one to offer compliments, but they really knew what they were doing.

He took a spot against the wall and wasn't sure where Spain had bounded off to but if he wanted him, he'd find him. Prussia hated feeling this self-conscious, but he continually felt as if he didn't belong here. So, with a sigh, he updated his twitter account via his cell phone and scrolled through his ridiculously short feed. Ah. India was apparently partying down…wait. He was here? Dammit. Did everyone know about this meeting but him?

Prussia snapped his cell phone shut and shoved it into his pocket. Perhaps he should just…he should leave. That made sense. (Right?)

"Gilbert, what's wrong?"

Of course it was Spain. Just as he was planning his escape, Spain made his move. He was certain the man knew exactly what he was doing. "N-nothing's wrong," he answered quietly. The answer didn't seem to convince Spain. He pressed his hand against the wall next to his head and leaned close.

"You want to dance with me?" he asked after a moment.

It had been only a matter of time before he dropped _that_ question, but Prussia couldn't quell the blush that spread over his face. (Stupid damn…emotions…) "I don't dance."

"Oh, but I know you must be a wonderful dancer, Gilbert~!" Spain said. "Please dance with me."

"I don't dance."

He had now spent sufficient time with Spain and managed (just barely) to resist his pouting. Spain's hand touch his chest and toyed with a button. "Pleeease?" he said. "If you don't know how to dance, then…" and he leaned very close. "You know I would love to teach you."

"I…" His eyes darted about the very crowded room. "Not…here. Not with so many people."

Spain's look softened and he smiled. "All right. I understand. There will be plenty of time to…dance later on."

For some reason, he was sure Spain was alluding to something other than dancing. Pervert.

But Prussia was feeling a little guilty for shooting down his request so when Spain began to pull away, he took hold of his hand. "Um. Well, if you want to go dance – and I mean real dancing and nothing…nothing else – then we could…" Ah, hell. What was he trying to say?

Spain took his face between his hands and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "We don't have to do anything. In fact, I'm perfectly happy just like this. Right here. Against the wall." Though he knew he really wasn't. Spain loved to socialize and mingle. But, here he was, with him at the wall. Spain shouldn't have to change for him.

"Nah. Let's go chitchat. I've got to show off my awesome…erm…my awesomeness."

With that, he shoved his hands into his pocket, brushed by Spain, and threaded into the crowd. Haha. Score one in the "made Spain speechless" category. (And yes, he _was_ keeping track.) Now that he was in the crowd, he wasn't sure what his exact intentions were. But there was (cuuuute) Romano and his brother Feli. He wrapped his arms around their shoulders and pulled them close. "Yo! How are my favorite Italians?"

"Hi, big brother!" Feliciano said blissfully. Romano folded his arms and huffed.

"Hello…" And to Spain, who had followed after Prussia: "Hi jerkface."

"Charming as ever, Romano," Spain said. Romano's face puffed out ever so slightly but it was enough to make Spain's eyes…sort of do this sparkling thing. Hm. "Ah, Roma…relax, relax…"

Romano pushed Prussia's arm away and grabbed Spain by the arm. "Since I know what you are going to eventually ask, let's get this over with, bastard."

"Wha…?" Spain began before he was yanked away. The two of them disappeared into the throngs of dancers.

What the hell was that? He stood as tall as he could on his toes and could see Romano forcefully dancing with Spain. The tomato head seemed to be enjoying himself, though he was still a little bewildered.

"Hmm," Italy said. "Maybe I should do that with Germany."

"He'll break your arm if you tried that," Prussia said.

"No, he won't! I'll go try now!" Italy declared and skipped happily away.

Huh. And now he was alone again. Funny how that always seemed to happen. Here he was, in the midst of such a large crowd and yet, he felt entirely isolated. No! No, he wouldn't allow this to happen! He was too damn awesome to be alone! He pounded his fist into his other hand and nodded firmly. Yeah!

"Dude, what are you so happy about?" Eh? America…?

"What the hell are you doing here?" Of course he would be on the invite list but he couldn't recall seeing (or hearing) him at the dinner.

"Pssh, I'm America. Don't you know how much I like showing up uninvited?" And then he started laughing like a maniac. (…weirdo…) "Ahaha, dude. Listen. There is this fountain out there. We should do something."

"…something?"

"Something awesome. You like awesome! I might not know your name, but I know you like awesome. Let's go…" He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Let's go _skinny dipping._"

Yep. Consider him dumbstruck. America had a mischievous glint in his eyes and laughed again. "Man, you Europeans can be uptight about some things. You are European, right? Germany's little brother? Anyhow, I brought some soap so we can just dump that in the fountain." He pulled out a box of soap from (somewhere) inside his jacket.

"What? No. I mean – yes, I am European but I'm the older brother. Who the hell told you I was the little brother? Dammit. Give me that!" He swiped the box from America's hand. "What are you – twelve?"

America's expression was akin to that of a kicked puppy. He was never able to resist kicked puppy looks. Shit. "I'm…I'm not going to soap the fountain." He didn't want to do anything that would tarnish Spain's already bruised reputation amongst his allies.

America nodded solemnly. "Yeah, I saw those looks you were giving him all through dinner."

Where the hell was America at dinner? You know what? Prussia really didn't want to know the answer to that little question. "I wasn't giving him any sort of looks."

"Uh huh. Keep living in denial, my friend. If you want to continue to be miserable, that is."

"I have no idea what you are talking about." Deny, deny, deny. Yeah, he was good at that.

"Look, dude. I know, okay? No need to be all uptight and hesitant about what you feel. You can't stop love." When the hell did America decide to go all…(somewhat) philosophical on him? "And you sure did score on this one, eh?"

…

He erased that last sentence from his mind. America slapped his hand on his back and laughed. Right. It was obvious that everyone else knew about his…thing with Spain. He thought he had been discreet about it. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he was all right with it. So what? They knew. Obviously the lot of them didn't seem to mind. Why did he still feel so apprehensive about publically acknowledging his feelings? Why was he so hesitant? He _hated_ agonizing over this. It wasn't like him to dwell on one issue for so long.

"Thanks," he said softly to America and handed him back the soap box. "I've got something I have to do now."

He turned his attentions to Spain. Where the hell was he, anyway? He wormed his way through the crowd and spotted the elusive Spaniard snuggling close to Romano. Romano's face was bright red and his cheeks puffed out, but he obviously enjoyed the attention. Prussia really didn't feel any animosity towards Spain for his treatment of Romano. He knew how much Spain cared about him. But he had something to tell him. And Romano need not be present.

"Spain!" he called but his voice didn't carry over the noise. Dammit. He dodged dancing couples (which included an extremely flustered Germany and a rather pleased Italy) and reached out to touch Spain's shoulder. "A-Antonio…" (Yes, he was going for the 'kill' so to speak.)

The reaction was nearly instantaneous. Spain looked at him with wide, concerned eyes and slowly disentangled himself from Romano. "Gilbert, what's wrong? Are you all right?"

"Hey, Romano…can I talk to Spain?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Romano said with a shrug. He studied Spain for just a moment and then gave Prussia a rather…incredulous look and then disappeared into the crowd. Ah. He probably was going to have to have some sort of…touchy-feely emotional talk with Romano later. Uugh. Romano was perhaps _the_ number one person in Spain's life and up until this point, Prussia had not considered the implications for him. But there would be time later to worry about that.

He took Spain's hand into his and hoped his hand wasn't too clammy. "Antonio, well…I…erm…"

"You are so adorable when you are flustered," Spain said cheerfully and drew him close.

"No, no don't you start," Prussia said, rather forcefully. It was enough that the cheerfulness dropped from Spain's face. Ah, dammit. That's not what he wanted to happen! "Spa—shit. Antonio. I -…"

I love you. Why was it so easy to say in his head but not out loud? He opened his mouth to try again but his words were drowned out by a sudden, horrified scream. The crowd immediately silenced.

"PUT YOUR CLOTHES ON, DAMN YOU!" It was England and he was standing near the doors to the garden. From the gardens came an extremely distinct (and crazy sounding) laugh. America. Great.

"I…should go and see what this is about," Spain said and promptly hurried towards the garden. Prussia already knew what had happened. Obviously America decided it really _was_ a good idea to strip out of his clothing and use the fountain as his personal pool. Stupid America. Stupid England and his girly scream. Prussia was convinced though, of one thing.

The world was conspiring against him.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Oooh, my…it has been too long, my friends. I have been called away by this little video game called 'Skyrim' and also have been involved with my two jobs – one of which is retail. I appreciate all the beautiful reviews from you all. Thank you.

Ended it one chapter short of my goal. An epilogue to follow. I might edit this a little more. Not quite satisfied but I've been messing around with this thing for too long. This part moves too fast. What do you all think? More?

**Warnings:** The usual plus some hot stuff? Mistakes are mine and there might be a few. Hideously fluffy at the end. Hideously.

* * *

><p>Spain had to spend the better part of rest of the evening chasing dignitaries around and apologizing profusely for the appearance of Naked America. Prussia had dutifully stayed out of his way (hell, he wasn't getting involved in shit like that) and he <em>did<em> hook up with India at one point. India was his usual self, all friendly smiles and so forth. He also had a lovely woman on his arm. He was really in his element. Spending time with him helped to raise his plummeting spirits.

Really, though. Prussia seemed to have the worst luck. Any time he _tried_ to tell Spain something important or anytime something…_nice_ started to happen between them, interruption would descend. Was the world really conspiring against him? Was there some sort of cosmic force getting in the way of what he wanted? (Was he crazy to be thinking this?) Nah. This had to be a series of obnoxious coincidences. Had to be.

Poor Spain seemed very flustered talking to England's dignitaries. The media was thankfully not allowed into this after party, but he knew that this little mishap was probably going to be slipped out and reported. At least the media would probably take a more dim view of America and not Spain. Prussia reclaimed his spot on the wall after India was dragged away by his partner. Funny how all of his earlier confidence disappeared. Though, maybe it wasn't a lack of confidence. More like a lack of…desire or will.

Prussia was tired. Not really tired in a physical sense, but…something else. Getting used to the idea of being in a relationship was…exhausting. It really was! He had spent centuries alone (in the romantic sense) and suddenly everything was changing for him. In the past, he supposed his loneliness really didn't bother him too much. He had things to do! People to conquer, countries to kick around – that sort of thing. But now he wasn't a country and his days were open, listless, boring. The world had left him behind for the most part.

He rubbed his chest absently and tried to shake himself out of this totally un-awesome mood. Ha. He had Spain. He knew Spain loved him and he knew that he loved Spain…if he could only tell him. But not now. Not yet. He had to wait for all these distractions to leave. He wouldn't let anything get in the way again.

"Hey."

Prussia really wasn't all that surprised to see Romano appear in front of him. It was only a matter of time. The younger country shifted somewhat uncomfortably on his feet and folded his arms. "So. You got something going on with Spain?"

He did appreciate someone that cut right to the chase, so to speak. Still, it was a little odd to hear this from Romano. "Yeah. Problem?"

Romano's eyes narrowed for just a moment. "Look, you piss him off or do anything creepy to him, I'll disembowel you, okay?"

Like he had the strength. But his words were spoken in such a serious tone that Prussia had to take them seriously. "Of course I wouldn't do that," Prussia said. He had to ask the one question on his mind, though. "You…you're okay with this?" Everyone knew that Romano was closest to Spain, though Prussia was never quite that certain of their exact relationship. It's not like it came up in regular conversation, after all.

If this wasn't such a serious talk, Prussia would have probably called him cute: Romano flushed ever so faintly at his question. "Y-yeah. Yeah, of course I am! Not like we have…it's nothing! I _will_ hunt you down if you make him sad." And then Romano was quiet when he spoke next and his gaze drifted away. "He…he doesn't deserve to be sad…"

(Aw…Roma…so cute…) Ahem. Prussia smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. Spain was so damn lucky. This was the second threat of bodily harm he had received from someone close to that idiot. "I know. I'll…I'll try."

Romano nodded and seemed a little relieved, though he pushed away his hand in an instant. "Don't be so damn elusive around him either. He appreciates…forwardness."

Right. This conversation was now entering uncomfortable territory. (And he had a hard time imagining Romano being…forward.) Romano also picked up on the…weirdness and turned right around and stalked back into the rapidly thinning crowd. Well, this was one conversation he was going to add to the "conversations he thought he would never have" list.

Prussia wandered around for a bit and took some compromising photos of his brother dancing with Italy. He'd save those for use in blackmail. His brother did look…happy, though and mildly embarrassed to be dancing in front of so many people. It didn't look at hard – dancing in public - and no one was paying any attention to the couple. So, if he decided to dance with Spain, would it really be so bad?

"Psst!" …the hell was that? He turned around and around, searching for the source and finally he saw Spain waving to him from the garden. "Gilbert, quick!"

Prussia repressed the automatic urge to roll his eyes at being summoned in this manner and casually met Spain at the entrance to the garden. The man's eyes darted about nervously for a moment and then he was pulled around the corner. "I thought I would never get England and America to leave," he said and his hands were already upon him, just touching him and stroking at his arm lightly.

He didn't know what to say so he began to straighten Spain's crooked tie. "What were you going to say to me, Gilbert? I saw Roma talking to you as well…"

He had hoped Spain wouldn't bring up the topic of their earlier conversation and so tried to sidestep it and focus on Romano. "Oh, you know Romano. He threatened me…but…" Prussia let his hands fall from the now-mangled tie. (He was too damn nervous for something that complicated.) "But, I'd never hurt you, Spain."

"Aw, Roma…so sweet," Spain sighed. He didn't like that fond look in his eyes. That made him jealous, even though he knew he was silly for feeling that way. Spain would always be fond of Romano. He was special. "Ah, but don't avoid my earlier question. What were you going to say to me earlier?"

Dammit. All of his excuses had disappeared and anxiety took a tight grip on him. "Umm," he began lamely. Spain's hands were still roaming about his body and that was a tad distracting. "Well. I was thinking about how awesome it would be to dance. You know. Together. But not in there. I'm sure I'd put everyone to shame with my excellent dancing skills."

Of all the things to say…that was probably the lamest, stupidest damn bit of reasoning ever. But Spain smiled so happily and pulled him into a firm hug. "Aw, Gilbert," he crooned. "You want to dance with me right here, then? Out in the gardens? I'm sure no one will notice us missing. We can hear the music…"

They could hear the music perfectly well from here and if they stayed right behind this wall, not a single soul would see them. Prussia was beginning to feel a little more emboldened. Yes. He could do this. For Spain. Who cared what anyone else thought of them? Prussia shouldn't care. He knew that. But he continued to have to convince himself that this was _for Spain_. If someone saw them, Prussia knew he would be embarrassed. If Austria saw them – oh god, _Austria._ He would never live it down. That stupid twit had better be gone.

"Gilbert, what are you thinking?" Spain asked suddenly. His head was cocked to one side and…when had his arms slipped around his waist so tightly? Hm.

"N-nothing. It's nothing," he stammered quickly and put his hands on his waist hesitantly. Dancing like this, so closely…couldn't be so hard. Dammit. Yes, it was! It was! Especially with Spain looking at him so stupidly!

He jerked away and huffed. Spain, oddly, laughed and pulled him back into his arms. "Aw, Gilbert, there are plenty of other things we can do out here besides dancing. Don't fret."

Other things? The other things were probably worse! (Well, maybe _worse_ was a bad word. He was fairly certain what 'things' Spain had in mind. After all, he only thought of a few things and being a pervert was high up on his list. (He was also certain he'd find most of these 'other things' quite agreeable.) Seriously! Spain's hand was already under his shirt! How on earth did he manage that?

"Spain – Spain, for god's sake - !" he said and the moron had the audacity to giggle. _Giggle_. (What the hell kind of medicine was he on, anyway? Prussia wanted in on it.)

"You know I would never do anything to you that you didn't actually want, Gilbert," he said lightly and leaned forward to press his lips to the corner of his mouth. The kiss was gentle and he pulled away only slightly. His breath was warm on his skin when he spoke next. "And I know _exactly_ what you want."

Spain thought he knew what he wanted? Of course he was probably right but it didn't mean the Spanish idiot had any right to presume his desires. Still, he found that he couldn't bring himself to move from his tight grasp and his eyes were fixed on his lips. He wanted…he wanted…His tongue darted out to wet his lips and he heard Spain make a strange sound before he was suddenly shoved against the wall and kissed fiercely.

"Don't tease me," Spain said darkly, lifting his mouth away after that hard kiss. T-tease him…? What? That innocent little tongue thing? He didn't even mean to do that. His lips were dry, dammit! He thought he should be angry but (much to his horror) the roughness combined with that dark gaze…well, it was kind of (okay, _very_) arousing. He felt a flush creeping up his neck as one of Spain's hands tightened in his clothing. When Spain spoke once more, his voice was still low. "I want you. I want you right here and I don't care who might see us."

As much as he wanted to give in and accept what Spain wanted to give him, Prussia remained…reluctant. Afraid. Yes. He was frightened of this; frightened of being caught exposed and vulnerable by someone else. He trusted Spain…but that was about it. His eyes darted nervously to the entrance to the gardens and Spain's mouth was hot on his neck. What if someone…? What if…?

The Spaniard seemed to know just where to press his mouth to turn his thoughts into quivering mass of goo. He was having difficulty focusing, especially now that two firm hands gripped his back side and pulled him forward. He could clearly feel Spain's hardness and was nearly mortified. He knew he was flushed deeply and wondered when breathing had become so difficult. After all, Spain was only groping him and kissing so…so very nicely…

"Don't be frightened, Gilbert," Spain said huskily as his hands retreated upwards and around. His fingers tugged at the buttons on Prussia's shirt, quickly exposing his upper chest to the cooling night air. He had never expected such a shift in Spain. One moment he had been laughing and teasing and now…

Spain seemed to grow impatient with the buttons and tugged his shirt apart suddenly. He mournfully watched three or four of the buttons fly off into the darkness and was about to tell the destructive Spaniard off when he was kissed once more. All protests died and were swept away when his hands smoothed over his chest, brushing lightly over his nipples. He knew he must have made some strangled little sound at that, for Spain chuckled darkly.

Things were happening far too quickly for Prussia's addled mind to comprehend. At some point, Spain had slipped an arm underneath one of Prussia's knees and pulled his leg up so he could press their groins together. His other hand was down the front of his trousers doing – doing something so entirely pleasing that he couldn't help but groan out Spain's name: "A-Antonio - ."

He heard him speak, but his words were in soft Spanish so he didn't understand. It didn't matter. Spain lowered to his knees in front of him and Prussia knew what he was going to do – wanted what he was going to do, even though two (was it only two?) days ago, he thought it a most disgusting act. Prussia's shaking hands tried to work the clasp of his trousers open but Spain's hands pushed them away.

Spain's mouth twitched upwards, smiling slightly, and then it was Prussia's turn to groan: Spain's tongue darted out to wet his lips, slowly and thoughtfully. He understood now. The man's fingers wrapped around his waistband and he tugged slightly, his gaze rising to meet his. Yes. Prussia wanted nothing more than for Spain to pull his trousers down and to…and to do that _thing_ with his mouth.

Suddenly, though, Prussia heard a sharp, loud laugh. He lurched out of the pleasant, lusty haze that he had been snared in. There was no one in the garden. The laugh had come from inside, in the ballroom. No one had been watching, but now Prussia was all too aware of how close the others were. If he could hear a laugh so clearly, what could _they_ here? He couldn't let anyone see him like…like this! Playing the submissive! He was Prussia, dammit! He submitted to no one – at least, not publically!

But there was an even more startling and important reason for him stopping – probably his real reason, as loathe as he was to admit it. He didn't want anyone to see them like this - in this terribly intimate and private moment. He wanted to share this with only Spain. He squashed what would have been his immediate reaction (run and hide) and tugged Spain to his feet. Before the Spaniard could protest, he kissed him. He had learned a thing or two about kissing these last few days, too. Spain's cheeks were lightly flushed when he saw fit to break their bond.

"This isn't for anyone else. I don't…I don't want them to see you. Us," Prussia mumbled awkwardly. "I don't share, Antonio."

He had expected many different types of reactions from Spain – defiance, recklessness, acceptance, whatever…he didn't expect for Spain to cup his cheek with his hand and smooth his thumb over the skin beneath his lower lip. He didn't expect for Spain's eyes to have lost _that_ look, to be replaced with one that Prussia dare not name out loud. He didn't expect the smile that spread over his face. "I love you, Gilbert," Spain said. "I do."

So Spain had finally said it. He said those words. Those Very Serious Words. Prussia's mouth worked silently for a moment before he closed it. He didn't know what to say. He knew what he wanted to say, certainly. He knew what emotion lurked within the confines of his heart. But could he admit this to Spain? He trusted him. Could he trust him with his heart? "Spa – Antonio," he said and he wasn't sure why his voice was oddly hoarse. He cleared it and tightened his grip on Spain, lest the Spaniard be distracted by…by a tomato or something. (It could happen.)

"Antonio," he tried again. Spain smiled and kissed his forehead.

"You don't have to say it, Gilbert. I know." There he went, assuming what was going on in his head. Prussia firmly shook his head.

"Stop. I want – I need to tell you that I – that I -."

It came as no surprise when a pair of giggling young girls came stumbling into the garden. Prussia normally would have been humiliated to be found like this but now…he couldn't take it anymore. He was tired of being interrupted and distracted. He had something important to say and he wasn't going to let anyone else get in the way. "FIND YOUR OWN DAMN GARDEN," he practically roared, startling even Spain with his intensity. The girls' laughter was immediately silenced and they rushed off, disappearing into the ballroom. Ha. Served them right. Nosy little bastards.

"What? Don't look at me like that," Prussia said upon seeing that humorous (and somewhat smug) look in Spain's bright green eyes. Right. Back to the Serious Business with the most Serious Words to say.

"Gilbert, you really don't – oomph!"

Prussia grabbed him by the shirt and whirled him around. He had him pressed against that same wall. No. No. He had to tell Spain. He couldn't let anything else interrupt. Not the party-goers, not Spain, and certainly not his own insecurities. "Look, you damn jerk," he said and nearly winced. Ouch. Nice way to start things. "Look. I – I 've been – and I wanted…ah, dammit…" And Spain continued to smile like the blissfully stupid moron that he was. He knew he should have felt comforted it but it bothered him how easily the Spaniard could profess his love. Why was Prussia having such difficulty? He knew what he felt! Why couldn't he say it?

He leaned towards Spain and lowered his voice. These words would be for him only. "You know. You know how I…you know that I - …" He took a deep, ragged breath. "I…love you. I love you."

Hm.

Maybe that wasn't so bad after all.

Still felt a little girly, though. And wasn't this where the birds were supposed to start singing and there would be sparkles…and so forth? What about the big kiss? Yeah, there was _always_ supposed to be a big, damn kiss after a love confession. But Spain was staring at him, wide-eyed and with an even bigger, stupider smile on his face. Fine. If Spain wasn't going to kiss him and fulfill his Hollywood dreams, then Prussia would take care of it.

He jerked him forward and planted his mouth on his. The kiss was a little fumbling but Spain made a very pleased sound. That had to count for something. Meant he was doing things right. He broke the kiss quickly but his breathing was still ragged. "And you owe me a new, awesome shirt, dammit."

Antonio (couldn't really refer to him as Spain anymore, now could he?) simply laughed and touched his fingers to his hair affectionately. "Of course. I'll buy you all the shirts you want."

"What? With _your_ raging economy? I think not. I know where Germany keeps his credit cards. You'll just have to borrow them," he said.

They were quiet for a moment and Antonio continued to idly stroke his hair. Finally, he spoke up. "So, is this where I can drag you off to my bedroom and claim you as my own, Gilbert?"

…the hell kind of a pick-up line was that? It made him feel a little squirmy, though, so perhaps it was a good one. "Yes. Yes, it is." He'd be damned to have anyone see _him_ being led off by Antonio. Nope. Antonio had that look in his eyes again and was about to seize him, but Gilbert moved too quickly. He hauled him over his shoulder and marched right back into the ballroom. The crowd silenced, save for Antonio's protests (between laughter). There weren't many people left, though Gilbert would have done this earlier. Now that he had confessed his deepest secret, he felt like he could do anything.

He weaved through the crowd easily and went through the double door entrance and then paused. He didn't know which way to go. "Left! Go left." Portugal.

He half turned and gazed over to Portugal, who was standing in the middle of the room with a rather bemused expression on his face. Gilbert gave him a mock salute (which was met with an eye roll) and continued on his way. Antonio just laughed. And laughed. Stupid idiot.

He could get used to it.

"Oh, are you going to give me some sugar in the bedroom?"

He would _have_ to get used to it. Hell, he probably already was.

"Ouch! Gilbert, that was the wall! My head!"

"You'll live, pervert."

**THE END (for now!)**


	9. Epilogue

**A/N**: So. I never did give 'Sugar' a proper epilogue. Then, I sort of took a break from the fandom and just recently started to poke around again. I'm horribly behind. But writing fanfiction doesn't require a firm and up-to-date grasp of the canon, I think. It's fanfiction. And this is Hetalia. You guys know what I mean. I've set it up for a sequel, I think...maybe I'll do it. Slap me for horrid grammar/spelling mistakes, as per usual.

* * *

><p>Dating Spain was a lot harder than Prussia thought it was supposed to be. Hell, <em>dating<em> was harder than he thought it was supposed to be. Who knew that there were rules and expected behaviors? Not him. Dating was supposed to mean lots of sex and cuddling. (Yes. Yes, he really did like to cuddle. Maybe even more than the sexy times.) Prussia had wanted to continue being the awesome country he was and even though Spain _claimed_ to love him _exactly_ as he was, Prussia was starting to think that wasn't really true.

For instance, Spain didn't like it so much when Prussia meticulously cleaned the bathroom or the bedroom. (Old habits die hard.) The guy said it cut into his "snuggly time" or something stupid like that. Prussia didn't know. All he knew was that the urge to clean was overwhelming sometimes, especially whenever he returned from visiting Spain's sorry excuse for a house. (Sure, that place looked shiny on the outside...) And now that he was spending more and more time at Spain's place, that urge was so palpable that it made him squirm.

There were other things that Spain really didn't like either. Like his cooking, his organizational methods, and the like. Now, his boyfriend (yep, Spain was _his_ man) didn't outright say any of this, but Prussia was pretty close to being a damn expert in reading the guy's expressions. He always smiled in a funny sort of way when Prussia did something that obviously got on his nerves. His smile changed if he did something that confused him.

"Gilbert," Spain called softly from their bed. The man looked like sin. And Prussia knew that statement was all kinds of cliché, but how else could one describe _that_ sight? Spain was, of course, naked and lounging amongst the bedsheets. His eyes were bright and his smile inviting. Now, this kind of smile spoke only of promise of a more...'hnngh' inducing nature. "Come back to bed. It's too early. Please?"

Prussia discarded the shirt he had been trying to fold for the last half hour (thinking about Spain was a huge distraction, you see) and trotted back to the bed. He was quickly pulled back down onto the mattress and then Spain draped himself over him, effectively immobilizing him.

"There," he murmured. His lips brushed the curve of his cheek and his fingers gently rubbed at his shoulders. Just when he thought things were going to get heated, Spain shifted and lowered his head to rest against the crook of his neck. Prussia recognized that pose – he was about to be used as a darn pillow.

And, really, he was perfectly fine with that. It was easy to let his relationship worries and concerns fade into the background. It was easy to let Spain snuggle up to him. Honestly, it was quiet moments like this that Prussia secretly enjoyed the most. It _was_ hard sleeping whilst being used as a pillow, though, but that was all right. Ah, the joys of being in a relationship...

Spain would _more_ than make it up to him later.

...or else.


End file.
